


Otra Vez (Again)

by pamz



Category: Zorro (TV 1990)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Graphic Violence, major character deaths
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-19
Updated: 2017-01-03
Packaged: 2018-09-09 20:39:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 22,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8911153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pamz/pseuds/pamz
Summary: The worst days of Diego's life





	1. Day One

**Author's Note:**

> This alternative universe story is based on events from the episode "Broken Heart, Broken Mask" (Episode 2.09) written by Eugene Pressman. 
> 
> Disclaimer: This story is an amateur, not-for-profit publication produced solely for the enjoyment of other Zorro fans and is not intended to infringe upon any rights by Goodman/Rosen Productions, New World Television, Zorro Productions, the estate of Johnston McCulley or anyone else.

On what would become one of the worst days of Diego's life, he woke up a little before noon. He had been up most of the night reading a book entitled Phytologia, a very interesting tome on the philosophy of agriculture written by an Englishman, Erasmus Darwin. It had been one of many books forwarded to him by Sir Edmond when the British knight had still been alive. That practice was just one of many things Diego was going to miss about his old friend who had been killed several months earlier that year.

Pushing away his feelings of grief and guilt over his mentor's death, he instead thought about his habit of staying up late and sleeping until the afternoon, a habit which upset his father to no end. But it was a necessary part of his masquerade as Zorro. Besides, he told himself defensively, it was a pattern to which he had grown accustomed over the years. 

"It's about time you got up," grumbled Don Alejandro as Diego ambled his way to the dining room about a half an hour later. Then the old don broke into a big grin. "You'll never believe it."

Diego looked at his father expectantly. "Never believe what?" he inquired lazily as he poured himself a cup of coffee from the urn sitting on the sideboard.

"Your cousin Rafael is going to be a father!" The elder de la Vega's eyes danced with excitement. "Isn't that wonderful?"

"Of course," Diego agreed. His cousin had married the flighty Margarita after all, despite her falling in love with Zorro while the couple had visited Los Angeles. And now they were going to have a child. Diego gritted his teeth, bracing himself for what was going to come next.

His father didn't disappoint. "Diego, son," the old don began, "it's about time you settled down, found yourself a wife." He stared expectantly at Diego. "I want grandchildren!" he added emphatically.

"I know, Father," replied Diego. "Believe me, I know," he grumbled under his breath, before adding honestly in a louder voice, "I wish Rafael and Margarita all the happiness in the world. 

Don Alejandro eyed him curiously. "I'm going to send my congratulations right away," he announced. "I'll add your best wishes as well."

" _Gracias_." Diego sat down at the dining room table as his father left the room. He shook his head. He didn't want to marry just any woman, just so he could provide the old don with those much-desired grandchildren. He loved Victoria. But she loved Zorro and hadn't even spared him a second glance since the masked man had first appeared. 

He took a sip of his coffee, which was bitter and cold, as he contemplated his fate, which was quickly tasting the same way. A fate of his own making, he reminded himself . No one had coerced him into becoming the guardian of Los Angeles. He had assumed that mantle of his own volition.

Diego set down his cup and pushed away from the table, suddenly losing his appetite. It was time for Felipe's lessons anyway, he thought as he strode from the dining room.

It was a few hours later when Diego rode into the pueblo. It was an unseasonable warm day, he noted as he tied up his horse to the hitching rail in front of the tavern. The heat explained why one of the tables on the porch was filled with men playing cards. Scanning the men's faces, Diego recognized three of them as friends of his father; Don Carlos, Don Esteban, and Don Jose. 

The fourth man was one Diego had never seen before. He must be the Americano Felipe had told him about earlier that afternoon. The man named Bishop who had come to Los Angeles a few days before and who had been aggressively enticing the pueblo's male citizens into games of chance. Diego had thought it wise he check out the itinerant gambler.

" _Buenas tardes_ , Diego," called out one of the men sitting at the table opposite the card game. 

" _Hola_ , Don Sebastian," he replied, turning his attention to the older, balding man who was another of his father's good friends. Diego sat down on the empty bench beside him and inclined his head toward the card players. "How come you haven't joined them?"

The older don shook his head. "I'm not a gambling man," he said. He glanced over at his trio of friends sitting with the gambler. "Don Esteban and Don Jose can afford to lose a peso or two, but Don Carlos. . ." He shook his head again. "He's about to lose everything."

"It's as bad as that?" queried Diego. He had heard the rumors lately of the insolvency surrounding Carlos de la Sandro. His father had passed away five years earlier, leaving a modest sum of money as well as a prosperous rancho. Don Carlos, whose wife had died before his father and before giving him a heir, had bled money from the estate, speculating on one bad business deal after another. 

The man's weakness for gambling hadn't helped either. He would bet on anything - cards, horses, dogs, even the weather. And he almost always lost, just winning often enough to keep his head above water.

" _Si_ , Diego," replied Don Sebastian. "Don Carlos is nearly penniless. The only way he can pay back what he owes is to sell off his land."

"What a shame," Diego murmured. After glancing over at the card players again, he turned his attention back to his book which he hadn't finished the previous night. He was interrupted several times, however, by the welcome arrival of Victoria as she filled his glass of lemonade.

[most of the following taken from "Broken Heart, Broken Mask" written by Eugene Pressman]

His quiet perusal was disturbed a short while later loud groans came from the opposite table. "Gentlemen, the cards don't lie," said the newcomer Bishop.

Diego looked over as Don Carlos leapt from his chair, staring at the cards on the table with something akin to horror in his eyes. The other man then walked across the porch to the table where Diego now sat by himself. Don Sebastian and the other two men, Don Arturo and Pedro Gonzalez, had left for their respective homes several hours earlier.

Putting a finger in his book to mark his place, Diego glanced up at his father's friend. "Don Carlos," he said in a cheerful voice. "Lovely evening, isn't it?"

"Not particularly," said Don Carlos sourly. "It's too hot."

Diego darted a glimpse at the other card players before asking, "How's your game going?"

"Terrible," was the terse reply. Don Carlos then sat down in the empty chair next to Diego. 

"The only man who wins at poker," Diego advised, knowing the message would probably fall on deaf ears, "is the one who doesn't play."

Don Carlos turned and glared over his shoulder at the other table. "I don't like being cheated," he announced in a strident tone.

An expectant hush came over the men on the porch. An accusation of cheating was a serious one, not something to be made lightly and never without proof. Diego held his breath as Bishop stood up and sauntered up to loom menacingly over Don Carlos.

"You have a big mouth, my friend," he declared pleasantly. But everyone heard the underlying threat behind his words.

Don Carlos jumped from his chair which slid noisily across the wooden planks. A moment later, Mendoza and two other lancer emerged from the tavern. Victoria hovered anxiously behind them.

"What is the problem, _señores_?" the stout sergeant queried as he tugged on his uniform.

"No man calls me a cheat and lives," answered Bishop, his eyes never leaving Don Carlos's pale face.

"This is a peace-loving pueblo," Mendoza stated authoritatively. "You will act like gentlemen while you are here or you will go to jail for disturbing the peace."

The Americano smiled insincerely. "Of course," he demurred sarcastically. "I've forgotten my manners. I've grown unused to such. . ." His voice trailed off as he glanced over at Diego then down at the tome he still held in his hand before adding, "genteel surroundings."

"That's more like it, Señor," said the sergeant, grinning as he believed he had diffused a dangerous situation. 

Bishop bowed with mock politeness toward Don Carlos. "No hard feelings, friend," he said. But as soon as the soldiers had turned their backs, he shook a piece of paper at the old don. "I'll give you a week to pay this note," he warned ominously. Then he spun around and walked back over to the side of the porch where Don Esteban and Don Jose sat with stunned expressions on their faces.

No one paid much notice to Diego as he excused himself. He knew, as did everyone else present, that nothing had been settled, despite Mendoza's interference.

Less than an hour later, Zorro was lurking around the left side of the tavern, assessing the situation on the front porch. Don Carlos was heavily in his cups and Victoria was persuading him to go home. The card game was breaking up, the Americano clearly besting his two remaining opponents.

The masked man peered around the corner as Bishop walked up to Don Carlos's table. "You're a dead man," the gambler growled.

Don Carlos sprang to his feet once again as Victoria glared angrily at his threatener. "Haven't you caused enough trouble?" she asked crossly. "Get out of here!"

Bishop smirked condescendingly at her before returning his stare at the old don. "No man calls me a cheat," he reiterated.

Zorro had heard enough. He appeared suddenly from his hiding place and stood on the porch. "Suppose we just call you foolishly bad-tempered?" he drawled insolently.

Bishop chuckled mirthlessly then drew a pistol, aiming it straight at the man in black's heart. Zorro's whip cracked loudly as it knocked the weapon from the Americano's hand. The gun fell harmlessly to the table as a staggered Bishop rubbed his stinging hand.

The masked man moved forward, coiling up his whip. "Go home, Señor," he advised Don Carlos. "And next time, don't play cards with strangers."

The chastened don shuffled off toward his horse. Zorro picked up the pistol, watching as the old man mounted his horse and riding out of the pueblo. He then turned to look at Bishop.

"A man who returns verbal insults with a bullet," he began, "is a most unwelcome addition to Los Angeles." Not caring that the other man was furiously glaring at him, he continued, "Temper your anger, for next time I won't be so forgiving."

Bishop shot him one last dirty look before stepping off the porch and ambling across the plaza. Zorro reached out and took Victoria's right hand then led her to the edge of the porch's step.

"I should see that Don Carlos makes his way home safely," he stated. What he really wanted to do was to take her into his arms and kiss her lips until they were both senseless. But instead he whistled sharply before bestowing a gentlemanly kiss upon her hand.

He was about to swing up into the waiting Toronado's saddle when Victoria shouted, "Zorro, no!" The masked man spun about as she grabbed his arm. There was a strange sound, like a loud pop, then Victoria slumped against one of the porch's pillars.

"Victoria!" Zorro caught her before she hit the ground. He stared in horror at the bright crimson stain quickly spreading over the white cotton of her blouse.

"It was Bishop," she gasped out, breathing heavily. "Ah!" 

He realized then that she had stepped in front of him, to protect him from the gambler's attack. "Victoria, why?" he asked, even though he already knew the answer.

She reached up her right hand and caressed the part of his face that wasn't covered by his mask. "You are safe," she murmured as each word struggled across her lips, "and that's all that matters."

Her hand abruptly fell away from his face as her eyes rolled backward. Zorro ripped off the glove of his free hand and touched it to her neck.

There was no pulse.

Victoria was dead.

Z Z Z

It was much later than night when Diego sat down at the desk in his room. The preceding hours had been a nightmare for which he was unfortunately awake. Thankfully his father had taken over making arrangements for the funeral. He was going to have a difficult enough time attending the service, let alone participate in its planning.

Diego pounded his clenched hand onto the wooden surface of his desk, barely acknowledging the pain his action caused. Victoria was dead. The woman he loved, the woman he wanted to marry, the woman he wanted to be the mother of his children. . .was gone. Gone because of his stupidity, his naiveté the irate gambler would just walk away and behave himself.

He had let his love for her override his common sense. And now he had volunteered in his throes of guilt to write to her brothers, informing them their sister was dead.

"‘Dear Francisco and Ramon,'" he muttered sarcastically as he picked up a quill, "‘Hope this letter finds you well. Just dropping a line or two to let you know Victoria is dead, killed by my foolish arrogance.'"

Tossing the white feather down in disgust, Diego buried his face in his hands and groaned in despair. In his mind's eye, he relived the moment as he held Victoria in his arms, feeling the life force draining from her. It was something that would haunt him for the rest of his days.

The worst part had been leaving her inert body, entrusting it to Don Jose and Don Esteban as he made his escape. The alcalde and Sergeant Mendoza had emerged from the cuartel and had espied him, crouching in the dust with the lifeless Victoria in his grasp. If it hadn't been for her last words, Zorro wouldn't have cared if Ramone's men had shot him. But the fact she had given her life to save his. . . He just couldn't let her sacrifice to be for naught. So it had been with great reluctance he had whistled again for Toronado and had ridden away from the pueblo.

His Victoria was now permanently out of his reach. Now much more than a mask separated them. And it was eating him up inside to know it was all his fault. Bishop may have been the one who had physically murdered her, but he, Diego de la Vega, had caused her death. He would have to live with that fact for the remainder of his life.

Shudders of pain shook his body and he gave in to them, letting his grief overtake him as he rested his forehead on the desk top. Then Diego de la Vega did something he hadn't done since his mother had died when he was twelve.

He cried until he had no more tears left.

Z Z Z


	2. Day Two

Diego wasn't sure what time he had finally dropped off into an exhausted yet fitful sleep. He woke up slowly, glancing over at the clock on his bedside table. Twenty minutes to twelve. He surmised since there was bright sunshine streaming through his window, that it must be nearly noon.

It was then he remembered Victoria was dead. And it was his fault. He groaned, wanting to pull the covers over his head and not face the unpleasantness awaiting him that day. He wanted to wallow in his own misery, not sure if he could bear to share anyone else's grief.

But, he scolded himself, that would be the coward's way out. And remembering once again how bravely Victoria had sacrificed herself for him, he knew he had to push himself to go on, if for no other reason than to honor her memory.

Diego swung his legs out of his bed and stood up. As he dressed, he noticed the book he had been reading the day before was sitting on the night stand. _That's odd_ , he thought as he buttoned up his shirt. He last recalled seeing it as he tossed the tome onto his desk in the secret cave before he changed into his alter ego, intent on rescuing Don Carlos.

Maybe Felipe had placed it on the bedside table sometime during the horrific previous evening, he surmised with a shrug. Diego finished dressing then made his made out to the dining room.

"It's about time you got up," grumbled Don Alejandro as he sat at the table. Diego noticed the mostly empty plate in front of the old don and marveled he could eat at all. Or maybe it was just he who had the lump in his throat that made it impossible to even think of food without feeling nauseous.

Then Diego was stunned to watch as the elder de la Vega's face broke out into a large grin. ""You'll never believe it," Don Alejandro said excitedly.

Diego's heart skipped a beat, thinking for a moment there had been a terrible mistake and Victoria was still alive. But then he remember holding her limp body in his arms, feeling her heart beat its last and knew it couldn't be true no matter how much he wished otherwise. Shaking the disturbing images from his head, Diego poured himself a cup of coffee and wondered what could have possibly made his father so happy in the midst of such a tragedy.

"Your cousin Rafael is going to be a father!" The elder de la Vega's eyes danced with glee. "Isn't that wonderful?"

Hot liquid burned Diego's fingers as the cup slipped from them. "Wh. . .What. . .What did you say?" he asked in a strangled tone as he caught the cup before it crashed to the floor.

The old don eyed him strangely before repeating, "Rafael is going to be a father." He smiled again. "Isn't that wonderful news?"

"But. . . I. . ." Diego's mind couldn't form complete sentences, let alone his mouth. 

"Diego, son," Don Alejandro began, ignoring his son's lack of eloquence, "it's about time you settled down, found yourself a wife." He stared expectantly at Diego. "I want grandchildren!" he added emphatically.

Diego's brain began whirling uneasily with several questions. Why was his father repeating almost word for word the conversation they had the previous morning? Had grief caused the elder de la Vega's mind to snap sometime during the night? Was he pretending the day before hadn't happened as a way to cope with the death of the daughter of one of his old friends? A woman he himself considered as a daughter?

"Diego!"

He started at the sound of Don Alejandro's voice. The elder de la Vega was eyeing him curiously, just as he had done yesterday. "I'm going to send my congratulations right away," the old don announced after a few minutes. "I'll add your best wishes as well."

" _Gracias_ ," Diego said bemusedly. He dropped down into a chair as his father left the room. What in the world was happening? Perhaps his mind was the one that had splintered, unable to deal with the loss of the only woman he had ever truly loved.

He took a sip of his coffee and grimaced at its bitter tepidness. _Exactly like the day before_ , a little voice in his head said. No, Diego told himself firmly as he set the cup down on the table, it was just a coincidence. The de la Vegas' housekeeper, Maria, always made the coffee strong, the way his father liked it.

Diego stood up and pushed away from the table, intent on finding Felipe. If anyone could help him figure out just what the hell was going on, it would be the young man who knew all his secrets, he thought as he strode from the dining room.

An hour later, however, Diego was even more befuddled. He had found Felipe in the exact same place he had found him the day before; the stables; and doing the exact same thing, cleaning the tack with Paco, the stablemaster's son. They had made their way back to the hacienda library where Felipe had brought out his calculus book, opening it to the same page as the previous day.

Diego stared in stunned silence. This couldn't be just another case of disconcerting happenstance, he told himself. But what else could it be? He decided to test his fragile theory.

"Felipe, we did that chapter yesterday," he stated as he carefully gauged the lad's reaction. The youth first look confused then shook his head, pointing insistently at the page in front of him.

So Felipe was under the same delusion as everyone else. Diego didn't know why he thought the young man would be different the rest of the people living at the hacienda. Maybe because the only other alternative would be that he was the one who was hallucinating. 

"Felipe, I need to speak to you," he announced as he sat down on the settee next to the now perplexed youth. Diego look to his right then his left before continuing. "Felipe," he said, lowering his voice, "is Victoria dead?"

The young man looked so shocked that Diego was worried that he might faint. Then Felipe shook his head emphatically, the bewildered expression never leaving his face.

Diego's thoughts raced feverishly through his head as he tried to piece this last bit of information into the puzzle. Both his father's and Felipe's actions had mimicked the day before's, except when they interacted with him. And if Victoria wasn't dead, if she hadn't been killed. . .

_Madre de Dios!_ That meant she _was_ still alive. It was as if the previous day had been erased and given a fresh start. An overwhelming urge to see her, to make sure he wasn't going insane, made him jump up from his seat, startling Felipe even further.

"Tell Father I went into town," he instructed the confused lad. But the young man grabbed his arm as he tried to stride from the room. With his free hand, Felipe gestured a bit wildly. But Diego caught the gist of his questions.

"I don't know if it was a dream or a vision or whatever," he replied somewhat impatiently. He _had_ to go to the pueblo. He _had_ to see for himself that Victoria was all right. He had to see her dazzling smile so it could expunge the memory of her still, bloodless face he carried in his mind.

"Everything that has occurred so far today already happened yesterday," he explained. He shook his head. "I don't know how else to describe it to you, Felipe," he said hopelessly. "The French have a term for it - _déjà vu_. The sense that you have done something before.

"Victoria was killed by that gambler Bishop who was trying kill to Zorro," he stated. He almost laughed as both of Felipe's eyebrows shot skyward. But then he was grimly reminded of what he needed to do. "I can prevent that now," Diego said excitedly. "I know what everyone is going to do. And I can stop it from happening again."

This time, the youth let him leave. Diego's heart was beating so rapidly he thought it might burst from his chest. He could save Victoria. He could. . . _He could what?_ he asked himself derisively. Continue to worship her from afar? Keep snatching a few precious moments here and there and only while a thin whisper of black silk was between them? 

Diego stopped in his tracks in the middle of the courtyard. He had been given a second chance and he was going to make the most of it. He loved Victoria and his most fervent desire was to make her his wife. So what if she loved someone else? Especially since he was that someone. Somehow he had to make her see he was worthy of her love, hopefully without having to reveal his secret at the same time.

Z Z Z

A short time later, Diego rode into the pueblo de Los Angeles. The day was still unseasonable warm, he noted as he tied up his mare to the hitching rail in front of the tavern, just as he had done the day before.

The tables on the tavern's porch were filled with the same gentlemen, in the same chairs, doing the same things. Don Carlos, Don Esteban, Don Jose, and the Americano Bishop were playing cards to the right. Don Sebastian, Don Arturo, and Pedro Gonzales, the bank's manager sat at the table on the left, drinking lemonade and discussing local politics.

Diego realized he had arrived a bit earlier than he had the previous day. And he had forgotten his book. He began to mentally curse himself for his absent-mindedness but stopped short. He had to change the day's outcome. Maybe leaving the book at the hacienda was the just the thing that would save Victoria.

" _Buenas tardes_ , Diego," Don Sebastian called out as Diego cautiously approached the porch.

" _Hola_ , Don Sebastian," he replied, turning his attention to the man who was his father's good friend. Diego sat down on the empty bench beside him just as he had yesterday. He searched his mind for a moment, trying to recall what he had done next. It suddenly came to him and he then inclined his head toward the card players and asked, "How come you haven't joined them?"

The older don shook his head. "I'm not a gambling man," he repeating his words from the day before. He glanced over at his trio of friends sitting with the gambler. "Don Esteban and Don Jose can afford to lose a peso or two, but Don Carlos. . ." He shook his head again. "He's about to lose everything."

Diego was still a little shaken by the eeriness of the situation. He knew what everyone was going to say and what they were going to do, probably before they themselves knew. It was unreal.

"That bad, huh?" queried Diego, not remember his exact words but hoping he was close enough. And once again, he speculated for a moment about Don Carlos's perilous financial status.

" _Si_ , Diego," replied Don Sebastian. "Don Carlos is nearly penniless. The only way he can pay back what he owes is to sell off his land."

"What a shame," Diego murmured, sincerely echoing the same phrase he had used the previous day. He glanced over at the card players again, his eyes narrowing as he focused on Bishop, taking in the man's easy-going countenance. Only he knew that under that blasé attitude was a hot, irrational, and deadly temper.

Then his world turned upside down as Victoria stepped out onto the porch, carrying a tray of glasses and a ceramic ewer. He had told himself she was still alive, but even so. . . The shock of seeing her, smiling as she bustled about refilling cups and glasses, caused his heart to race and his breath to catch in his throat.

" _Hola_ , Don Diego," she greeted him, her beautiful face filling his vision. She gestured with the pitcher in her right hand. "Lemonade?"

Diego could only nod dumbly. He watched as she set down a glass in front of him then poured the pulpy yellow liquid into it. He made no move to pick it up when she had finished as he was still reeling from the fact she was alive and well and standing so close to him he could feel her warmth. Could smell the scent surrounding her, one that always intrigued him, peppers and spices mingled with just a hint of roses.

Then he noticed Victoria was staring down at him, a concerned frown marring her lovely features. _Say something_ , his brain screamed at him. _Tell her you love her, you_ cobarde. _Or at least say thank you_ , the little voice in his head added sarcastically.

Trembling, Diego reached out and lifted his glass. " _Gracias_ ," he managed to croak out. Victoria gave him one more questioning glance before turning and going back inside her tavern.

It was a couple of hours later the loud groans rose from the opposite table where the card players sat. "Gentlemen, the cards don't lie," Bishop stated in a pleasant yet mocking voice, just as he had the previous afternoon.

Diego watched with a dreamlike fascination as the scene before played out precisely as it had in his memory of the previous day's event. Don Carlos jumping out of his chair then joining him at his table. Diego mouthing his platitudes against gambling, especially with strangers. Don Carlos repeating his accusation of cheating against Bishop, who reiterated his threats against the older caballero.

It wasn't until later when Mendoza had stepped in between the two men, Diego realized he had another choice to make. Should he just let the situation remain as it was or should he interfere as he had done the day before? And should he intervene as himself or as Zorro?

As he observed Bishop waving Don Carlos's voucher and uttering more threats, Diego decided the man in black should make another appearance. The arrogant bastard needed to be taught a lesson, that the people of Los Angeles were not just plump pigeons ripe for his plucking.

A short while later, as he had done the previous evening, Zorro peered around the corner of the tavern, viewing once again the recurring tableau on the its front porch. Victoria, who was still a miracle to behold, was trying to convince a drunken Don Carlos to go home. The card game was breaking up and Bishop sauntering over to confront the older man again.

"No man calls me a cheat." Zorro used the gambler's words as his cue to step up onto the porch.

"Suppose we just call you foolishly bad-tempered?" he asked rhetorically. Nervous sweat began to bead up on his forehead and he was grateful his face was hidden. 

A chuckling Bishop pulled out his pistol and aimed it at Zorro's heart. As he had done earlier, the masked man knocked the weapon from the Americano's hand with his whip. And again, the gun dropped onto the table with a thump.

Zorro coiled up his whip as he spoke to Don Carlos, advising him to go home. "And next time, don't play cards with strangers."

He then picked up the pistol and turned his attention to Bishop. "A man who returns verbal insults with a bullet," he began, echoing the same words he had used once before to chastise the insolent man standing before him, "is a most unwelcome addition to Los Angeles. Temper your anger, for next time I won't be so forgiving."

The gambler tossed him a dirty look before walking off the tavern's porch then ambling across the plaza. This time, instead of reaching out and taking Victoria's hand, Zorro stared at the man's back, vowing to not take his eyes off of him until Victoria was safe.

"Go inside, Señorita," he ordered through clenched teeth. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her hesitate as an expression of defiance grew on her face. "Now!" he said a little more forcefully. He would deal with her anger later, he told himself. All that mattered now was she was out of harm's way.

His gaze still on the Americano as the other man made his way to the livery, he was aware Victoria had finally obeyed his instructions and went inside. Zorro whistled sharply for Toronado who was waiting on the other side of the tavern. The sound of hoof beats and the neighing of a horse coming from the opposite direction distracted the man in black for a split second from his observation of Bishop. But it was long enough moment in time for the gambler to reach his right hand toward his boot. 

"Everybody down!" shouted Zorro. He flattened himself against the dusty ground and was mildly surprised everyone around him did the same.

He glanced up as a cloud of dust blew across his masked face and saw his father pulling up his horse right in front of him.

"Zorro? What's going. . .?" Don Alejandro's questions were interrupted by a strange popping sound. Dulcinea, the old don's white mare, let out a high-pitched whinny then reared upward. The elder de la Vega, who had been about to dismount, flew off the frantic animal's back.

Zorro could only watch in horror as his father fell against the tavern porch, the back of his head striking the hard wooden planks. There was a sickening thud and the masked man knew before he reached Don Alejandro's limp body. But he felt for a pulse anyway.

There wasn't one.

His gut churning, he realized he had just traded Victoria's life for his father's.

Z Z Z


	3. Day Three

Diego woke up late again the next morning as bright sunshine streamed through his window. With a groan, he glanced at his bedside clock. Eleven-forty. About time he got up, he mused as he swung his legs out of bed and stood up.

Then the realization his father was dead hit him and his knees nearly buckled. Bile rose in Diego's throat as horrific images of the previous day flashed through his mind. Of having to turn over Don Alejandro's limp and frail body into the care of his two grief-stricken friends, Don Jose and Don Esteban. Of Ramone and Mendoza's appearance in the plaza which drove the masked man out of the pueblo just as it had the day before. But instead of thinking of Victoria's sacrifice, he now had the guilt of his father's death on his head.

The whole situation was eerily similar to the day Victoria had died, only now instead of pictures in his head of her cold, lifeless body, he now had his father's. And as the elder de la Vega had taken over arranging for the lovely innkeeper's funeral, she had taken over the arrangements for his.

And once again, out of his sense of responsibility, he had volunteered to write a letter, this time to his cousin, Rafael. And as before, Diego had been unable to finish the missive, instead burying his head in his arms and sobbing. His eyes felt gritty with the salt of his tears this morning.

He dressed quickly and walked toward the door of his room. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror hanging on the opposite wall. He was wearing the same blue trousers and jacket he had donned the previous two mornings. Spinning around, he noted the book about the philosophy of agriculture he had been reading was sitting in the same place on the night stand by his bed.

Diego was wondering what it all meant as he ambled into the dining room, intending to get a cup of coffee before he had to face what would no doubt be a grueling day.

"It's about time you got up." At the sound of Don Alejandro's grumpy voice, this time Diego's legs did give way and he had to grasp the edge of the table to remain upright.

_Dear God, his father was alive!_ And well, it would seem as Diego eyed the mostly empty plate in front of the old don.

He watched with amazement as the elder de la Vega's face broke out into the same large grin for the third morning in a row. "You'll never believe it," his father said with the same excitement in his tone as before.

Diego only listened with half an ear as Don Alejandro repeated the news his cousin Rafael was going to be a father. His mind was still reeling from the shock of seeing his paternal parent was a living, breathing person once again.

"Diego, son." Shaking himself out his reverie, Diego turned his attention back to his father in time to hear the old don's advising him to settle down and find himself a wife. Diego's lips twitched into the beginning of a smile as Don Alejandro stared at him expectantly before adding emphatically, "I want grandchildren!"

Diego swiftly closed the distance between himself and the elder de la Vega then pulled the older man from his chair and embraced him. He was just so happy his father wasn't dead he would gladly marry the first eligible woman he met and begin producing those longed-for grandchildren

"Diego?" Don Alejandro's slightly strangled voice caused him to realize he was nearly crushing his father's ribs he was hugging him so tightly. Diego lowered his arms and took a step backward.

The old don eyed him curiously, just as he had done the previous days. "I'm going to send my congratulations right away," he announced after a moment or two. "I'll add your best wishes as well."

" _Gracias_ ," Diego replied, unable to keep a grin from splitting his face. He walked over to the sideboard and poured out a cup of coffee, sitting into one of the chairs as his father strode from the room. 

He took a sip of the cold, bitter beverage, not caring it tasted the same as the past two days. Diego then leaned back in his chair to contemplate on what it meant this same day kept reoccurring over and over again.

He appeared to be the only person aware of the repetition. Everyone else seemed to keep repeating their same actions and words and only he was the one changing his behavior. So it must be he who kept altering the day's outcome.

Diego let out a heavy sigh. Evidently he had been given another chance to make something right. If only he had a hint of what that something was. It certainly would make his job easier, he thought with a small chuckle.

Then he sobered as he speculated on what he should do. He had saved Victoria but that had caused his father to die. If he saved the elder de la Vega this time, did Victoria die again? Or someone else entirely? 

Someone like Zorro, he mused grimly. That was who Bishop had been aiming at both times, but instead had hit Victoria and his father's horse when they had crossed in front of the masked man. _He_ was the intended target. _He_ was the one who was suppose to die. Not Victoria, not his father, nor anyone else. He, Diego de la Vega, disguised as his alter ego, was the one the Americano was suppose to kill.

Diego began to tremble. He didn't want to die, of course. He was young and healthy with a full life yet ahead of him. He had responsibilities; Felipe, the rancho, his father. He was in love with a beautiful woman who he wanted to marry and make the mother of his children. He had everything to live for.

But, he scolded himself, was it fair others should die in his place just because he was afraid? No. Diego got to his feet. He had a lot of things to do that day if he was going to die later on that evening.

Today his footsteps took him directly to the stables where he knew Felipe was, cleaning the tack with Paco, as he had been the past two afternoons. The youth came with him eagerly when Diego announced it was time for his lessons. He watched emotionally as the lad opened his calculus book, knowing this would be the last time he would be there to teach him.

Diego swallowed hard as he wondered if he should tell Felipe what he was going to do. The young man would protest, Diego knew, quite strongly. But maybe once he explained why he was doing it. . .

He shook his head, remembering Felipe's reaction yesterday when he tried to describe what he was experiencing. There was no reason to believe his response today would be any different.

After spending a couple of bittersweet hours with Felipe, Diego rode into the pueblo, once again noting the unseasonable heat. He dismounted Esperanza in front of the tavern then secured her to the hitching rail, just as he had done twice before. Reaching into his saddlebag, he pulled out his agricultural philosophy book.

The same seven men were seated at the same tables on the tavern's porch, the ones on the right playing cards, the ones to the left discussing local politics. As Diego approached, he was once again hailed by his father's good friend, Don Sebastian.

Diego took up his seat next to the older don where they yet again conversed about Don Carlos and his bad luck at the card table and how he was about to lose the inheritance his father had left him.

"What a shame," Diego commented, thinking too, of how his own father would be left without an heir. He glanced over at the card players, narrowing his eyes as he focused on Bishop. The gambler had no idea of how many lives he was ruining, and, Diego thought crossly, the man probably didn't care.

Sighing in frustration, Diego opened his book where he had marked it. He had barely read more than a few words, however, when Victoria stepped out onto the porch, carrying a tray that held several glasses and a ceramic pitcher.

He still marveled that she was alive, the images of her dead in his arms yet fresh in his mind. She was the one thing he would regret in what remained of his life, that he hadn't told her his feelings for her, that she would never know he was the man she loved underneath the mask.

_Why not tell her?_ He had already said his goodbyes to his father and Felipe before he left the hacienda, although neither of them realized they were seeing him for the last time. He had written a letter of explanation, telling the elder de la Vega of his secret identity and instructing Felipe to show the old don passage through the fireplace and the Fox's hidden cave.

There was no reason why he couldn't at least reveal to Victoria that he loved her. She deserved to know, his conscience nagged him. 

Diego glanced up to see Victoria was staring at him curiously. Their eyes met, then she gave him a guarded smile before turning to back inside.

He immediately got to his feet, tossing his book aside. "Victoria, wait," he pleaded. She faced him, an inquisitive expression on her lovely face. "I need to speak with you," Diego requested.

"All right," she replied. She continued inside the building and he followed her into the kitchen. He watched as she set down her tray of dirty glasses then place the ewer of lemonade on the table. Wiping her hands on her apron, she turned her attention to him. "Well?"

Diego's stomach was tied up in knots as was his tongue. He wasn't sure how to begin. He wanted to do more than just blurt it out, but perhaps that was the only way. Taking a deep breath to steady his nerves, he once again took in her scent of peppers and spices mingled with a hint of roses, which only added to his frustrating situation.

"I, uh, I. . ." he stammered as Victoria gazed up at him expectantly. Berating himself for being more afraid of telling the woman he loved of his feelings than he was of facing ten soldiers with muskets and swords, he indicated she should sit down. When she was seated on the bench near the table, he sat next to her.

"Victoria," he began, his voice quaking a little, "I know that you're in love with Zorro. But. . ." He held up his hand as she opened her mouth. "I just wanted you to know that I. . .that I. . . love you."

Her eyes grew wide as she gaped at him. "Diego," she finally said after gaining her composure a few moments later, "I. . .I don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything," he said, reaching out to capture one of her hands in his. "I've always loved you, even before I left for Spain. But it wasn't until I returned I fell in love with you heart and soul."

"Oh," she squeaked. She glanced down at their joined hands then into his eyes. He could see the bewilderment in hers and smiled awkwardly. He wondered if now was the time to tell her his secret identity. She would never believe him, he told himself, not without some kind of proof.

He gently squeezed her hand then stood up. "Well, I'd better let you get back to your customers," he said. 

"Diego, wait," Victoria said, getting to her feet as well as he started to leave. He turned to face her. "Why?" she asked. "Why are you telling me this? Are you leaving again?" There was a plaintive tone in her voice and he was surprised to see tears gathering in the corners of her eyes.

"You could say that," he replied wryly. He was a bit taken aback by her distress. Perhaps her protestations of love for Zorro were more to convince herself of the fact along with everyone else.

"Where?"

Diego tilted his head upward slightly. Of course, he couldn't tell her he was going to be dead in a few hours. But he didn't want to lie to her either. "Someplace very far away," he compromised. "Where," he added with a wistful smile, "someday I hope to see you again but not for a very long time."

He could see that she was completely mystified by his words. But he could not explain to her their meaning. "If you will excuse me," he said politely. He left the kitchen then before she could ask any more questions.

Afternoon drifted into evening. Diego had resumed his seat out on the porch and pretended to read his book. In fact, he was once again enthralled by the activity around him as it eerily repeated itself for the third time. Don Carlos accusing Bishop of cheating. Bishop threatening Don Carlos. Mendoza's futile intervention, then more threats from Bishop as soon as the sergeant's back was turned.

Zorro was sweating bullets as he brought Toronado to a halt near the back of the tavern. Dismounting, he rubbed his gloved hand on the black stallion's forehead. " _Adios, viejo amigo mio_ ," he murmured huskily. The horse snorted and bobbed his head as if in reply. Zorro left the Andalusian munching contentedly on a hillock of grass.

He approached the front corner of the tavern just as cautiously as he had done the previous two days. Don Carlos was sitting at the table he, Don Sebastian, and the others had abandoned earlier. The masked man watched as the old don's hand shook as he brought a glass of whiskey to his lips. Carrying an empty tray, Victoria emerged from the doorway and head straight for the drunken caballero.

"Shouldn't you be on your way home?" she inquired as she picked up the pitcher on the table. Zorro's heart was in his throat as the Americano sauntered over and glared menacingly down at Don Carlos.

"You're a dead man," he snarled. The older man jumped to his feet.

Victoria, putting herself in danger once again, directed her angry retort to the hulking gambler, "Haven't you caused enough trouble? Get out of here!"

Bishop just smiled mockingly at the fiery innkeeper before his eyes narrowed meanly. "No man calls me a cheat," he sneered.

"Suppose we just call you foolishly bad-tempered?" Zorro asked as he stepped up onto the tavern's porch.   
With the same jeering grin on his face, Bishop wielded his pistol, aiming it straight as the man in black's heart. Zorro's hand twitched as he tightened his grip on the handle of his whip. He stared at the Americano, daring him to shoot him down in front of all the witnesses present.

To his shock, the gambler didn't pull the trigger. Zorro recovered his wits enough to lash out with his whip, knocking the weapon from Bishop's hand and onto the table. The masked man turned to a visibly trembling Don Carlos.

"Go home, Señor," he advised once again as he recoiled his whip. "And next time, don't play cards with strangers."

Zorro picked up the gun from the tabletop. "A man who returns verbal insults with a bullet," he began, reiterating the warning he had already delivered twice before to the brazen gambler, "is a most unwelcome addition to Los Angeles. Temper your anger, for next time I won't be so forgiving."

As the words left his mouth, he realized that there wouldn't be a next time. He wondered what would become of the pueblo and its people once he was no longer there to defend them. Panic gripped him as he questioned whether or not he was doing the right thing. 

Squaring his shoulders, he told himself he had no choice, that no more innocent bystanders were going to pay the price for his masquerade. He took deep breaths as he observed the Americano ambling across the plaza.

Zorro took Victoria's hand and gave it a lingering kiss. "I must go, Señorita," he said as she beamed up at him happily. Closing his eyes as he wanted the picture of her beautiful face to be the last thing he saw, he whistled for Toronado then stepped off the porch.

Pain unlike any other he had felt before exploded in his chest. His eyes flew open and he saw Bishop crouched down by the livery. Then his vision began to grow dark. He could hear shouting but it sounded as if it were coming from far away. He could feel soft hands on his face and he turned to see Victoria's tearful countenance. 

"No," she whispered as she squeezed the sides of his face. "Zorro, no."

He licked his lips, surprised at the effort it took to do so. "I love you," he said, each word causing his agony to worsen. "I've always loved you."

He thought he saw a glimmer of comprehension in her dark eyes. Then everything went black and he thought or felt no more.

Z Z Z


	4. Day Four

There was a red glow behind his eyelids. _Dear God, was he in hell?_ Diego cracked open one eye then the other. Then he shot up quickly into a sitting position.

_Madre de Dios!_ He was in his own bed in his own room at the hacienda. Disbelief filled him as he gazed around at the familiar furniture and wall hangings. Bright sunlight streamed in through the windows and he watched in fascination as dust motes danced in the yellow beams.

He glanced over at the clock sitting on his bedside table. Twenty minutes before twelve, which, considering the dazzling sunshine, he assumed to be twelve noon rather than midnight. A further glimpse took in the book next to the timepiece. The same volume on agricultural philosophy by Erasmus Darwin he had been in the process of reading. The same book he last remembered tossing aside on a table on the tavern porch.

Diego stared around in amazement. He was supposed to be dead. He could have sworn he did die, recalling the pain he had felt moments before his world had grown dark and he knew no more.

_The pain_. Diego glanced down at his nightshirt covered chest. There didn't appear to be a bandage of any sort. He sprang from his bed and pulled the cotton garment over his head. He stared down again at his bared body. 

There was the still healing rattlesnake bite on his right forearm. There was a scrape on his ribs on his left side he had received sliding down a tile roof a bit too hastily. Across his left shoulder was a long, thin scar, put there by Colonel Palomarez when the madman had poisoned him. 

But there wasn't even a scratch, let alone a mortal wound to his chest. Had he just dreamed his breathing had grown shallow and excruciating? Had it all been in his mind he had licked his lips and had tasted the hint of copper of his own blood? Had the agonizing pain he had felt been just a figment of his imagination?

Diego sat back down on his bed with a plop. Maybe this _was_ the afterlife. After all, nobody alive knew for sure. But, he wondered curiously as he gazed around his room, was it heaven or was it hell?

He made his way over to the armoire that held his clothes and opened the door. There, hanging as it had for what was now the fourth morning in a row, was his royal blue jacket and trousers. He had always just grabbed the first thing in the closet, not particularly caring what he wore on an everyday basis. 

What did it mean the blue suit was there again, innocently waiting for him to put it on? With not a little trepidation, Diego reached out and took the garments from their hangers then hurriedly dressed.

He left the bedroom, walking hesitantly toward the dining room. Taking a deep breath, he stepped into the room, almost afraid of what he might find there.

Don Alejandro sat at the table, a plate bearing the traces of his lunch of _carne asada_ sitting in front of him. "It's about time you got up," he growled grumpily before his face split into a huge grin. "You'll never believe it," the old don added excitedly.

Diego didn't believe it as for the fourth time, his father repeated the news of his cousin Rafael's impending fatherhood. 

"Diego." The elder de la Vega's petulant voice broke through his increasingly heated musing. "Diego, son," his father started to repeat the same advice that Diego had heard more times than he cared to count. "It's about time you settled down, found yourself a wife." He started expectantly at his son, before adding emphatically, "I want grandchildren!"

"I know, Father. Believe me, I know," Diego grumbled under his breath, unconsciously echoing the words he had spoken in reply to his father's outburst the very first day of this ongoing bad dream.

Don Alejandro eyed him curiously. "I'm going to send my congratulations right away," he announced. "I'll add your best wishes as well."

" _Gracias_." Diego sat down at the dining room table as his father left the room. He shook his head. What the hell was going on, he asked himself heatedly.

Obviously martyring himself was not the answer to this never-ending nightmare. Clearly something had gone wrong that first day, that horrible, terrible day when Victoria had been killed by Bishop in an assignation attempt against Zorro. Protecting her from the gambler had resulted in his father's death. And as he previously noted, offering himself up as the sacrificial lamb clearly wasn't what needed to be altered either. 

Diego cast a baleful eye upward. "Just what am I supposed to do?" he asked the question angrily, knowing he would not receive an answer. The more he thought about it, the more irritated he became. He had been given no hints, no clues, about what he needed to change. 

It probably was some minor, minute detail, he mused crossly. Something so simple no one would deem it important. Perhaps. . . Just perhaps. . . if he did the opposite of everything he had done so far. He stood up, slapping the palms of both hands on the linen tablecloth. "Fine," he said aloud. "That's just what I'll do."

Diego turned to the sideboard and poured himself a cup of coffee. Then, remembering its bitterness from previous days, he added two heaping spoons full of sugar and a very generous dollop of cream. He sat back down at the table, stirring the contents of his cup. He mulled over in his mind the events of the past three days while taking small sips of the now almost sickening sweet concoction.

So deep in his thoughts, Diego didn't realize at first that someone else had entered the room. Only when he heard the clatter of silverware did he glance up to notice the kitchen maid, a girl about Felipe's age, had come to clear away the remains of his father's luncheon. He frowned as he tried to recall her name.

" _Perdone, Patrón_ ," the girl said, keeping her eyes downcast. She reminded Diego of a frightened little dove. Paloma. . .that was her name.

"Paloma, _por favor_ ," he began, "bring me a big hearty breakfast." Skipping his morning meal was another thing he was going change in his effort to stop the day's horrific repetition. Diego grinned at the little maid who nodded then carried his father's dishes away to the kitchen. 

Z Z Z

Close to an hour later, Diego made his way out to the stables. He, however, had no intention of seeking out Felipe. No, he was going to give the lad the day off from his lessons while he planned to ride out to the northern edge of the de la Vega property, checking on the fences and the cattle grazing there.

Today when he entered the barn, Felipe and Paco were each currying a horse in its stall instead of cleaning the tack. Good, he thought, another detail altered. He watched as Felipe noticed his presence and loped over to him with an expectant expression on his young face. 

"No, no lessons today," Diego replied to the youth's signed question. "I'm going to check on the cattle in the north pastures." He turned, intending to make his way over to the stall housing his mare, Esperanza, but came to a halt when he felt a hand tug at his arm.

He faced Felipe, who launched into a series of gestures asking if he could come along. For a moment, Diego was inclined to agree, as the lad was an enjoyable and helpful companion on such outings. But then he remembered he had spent the past three afternoons with the youth. Doing lessons, that was true, but would it make any difference how they passed the time? 

"No, sorry," he replied, shaking his head for emphasis. "I need some time alone," he elaborated as an excuse. 

Felipe then surreptitiously mimicked slashing with a sword. He was right, Diego considered, the secluded north pasture would be an ideal place to work on their swordplay. But no, he told himself, he couldn't take the chance if he truly wanted to have any hope of ending the day's unceasing duplication.

"Felipe, I said no," he repeated a bit more harshly than he intended. "I'll see you tonight."

He almost changed his mind when he saw the youth's crestfallen countenance a second before he turned away. Diego regretted he had to disappoint the young man, but the need to change the day's outcome was more imperative than letting the lad have his way.

Shrugging, he went about saddling Esperanza, then filled one of his panniers with some dried beef and a couple of oranges. Into the other side he shoved his book. It had occurred to him that the only day he had not taken the tome on agricultural philosophy with him had been the only day that his father had ridden into the pueblo and had promptly been killed by Bishop. So Señor Darwin's book was important if for no other reason than it kept his father from riding into the pueblo at precisely the wrong moment.

Diego didn't feel like taking a chance with the elder de la Vega's life. He was doing everything else differently. Besides, he probably wouldn't even have time to read it. He smiled mirthlessly as he gave the volume a pat through the saddlebag's soft leather. _Better safe than sorry_ , he thought grimly.

It was an hour later when he reached the north pasture. And nearly another hour before he found the herd of cattle grazing in the foothills of the San Gabriel Mountains. Diego had ridden the fence line, which was in no need of repairs. He watched as he sat astride his mare's back as a couple of calves frolicked about in the lush green meadow.

Everything seemed to be in perfect condition, he begrudgingly acknowledged. Taking a glance at his pocket watch, it was still another two hours before the poker game would break up. Two more hours until Bishop threatened Don Carlos. Two more hours until some innocent bystander was killed by the greedy gambler.

_But not today_ , Diego told himself, gritting his teeth. Not if he had anything to do about it. He rode away from the beasts in the field and found himself a nice shady spot under a juniper tree. As it had been the previous three days, the weather was unseasonably hot and he welcomed the cooler air as he seated himself against the tree's trunk.

Diego ate some of the food he had brought with him as he perused his book. Or tried to read, as other thoughts and worries crowded his mind as he wondered what was going on in the pueblo. Would his absence really change what would happen? Were things playing out as they had when he had been present?

Most of his concern was for Victoria. She had been Bishop's first victim. Would she be again? He sincerely hoped not, remembering she was only harmed because of her association with Zorro. If the masked man wasn't there, then the Americano only had Don Carlos to intimidate.

Diego once again speculated about the older don and his foolish squandering of his inheritance. He could no longer pity him, not after knowing the havoc he wreaked because of his weakness for gambling. Maybe Don Carlos losing everything was something that was supposed to happen. That Zorro's interference in the matter was what disrupted the elder caballero's fate, thereby changing the rest of the day's outcome.

Heaving a weary sigh, he shook his head as if to literally clear of it of its troublesome ideas and turned his attention back to his book. When, after he had attempted to read the same page for the third time, he gave up and closed his eyes, deciding he might as well catch up on his sleep.

A huff of hot breath near his left ear startled Diego awake. He opened his eyes to see one of the calves bending its head toward the book resting in his lap. Snapping the tome closed before the inquisitive calf could eat its pages, Diego then gave the animal a swat to its hindquarters. The little fellow jumped in surprise, then ran away, not stopping until it had buried its nose in its mother's side.

Diego chuckled as he got to his feet. The darkening sky told him the fated moment was at hand, which he confirmed with a quick glance at his watch. Full of curiosity of what had transpired in his absence, he strode over to where he had tethered his mount. Within minutes, he and Esperanza were galloping toward the de la Vega hacienda.

Z Z Z

The sun had just slipped below the western horizon by the time Diego arrived at the gates of his home. He rode Esperanza to the stable, where he unsaddled her then curried her sweat-soaked skin. It was nearly a half hour later before he walked through the front door of the hacienda, carrying his book.

He had barely set foot inside when he was ambushed by his father. "Where have you been?" the elder de la Vega demanded. "You've been gone for hours."

"I rode up to the northern pasture," Diego explained, trying to control his annoyance at being treated like a small child. "I checked on the fences and the herd. Everything was fine, by the way."

"Oh." Don Alejandro had the good grace to look a bit chastised. "Well, next time let someone know where you're. . ." he began to bluster.

A loud pounding on the front door, followed closely by the sound of it being thrown open interrupted what old don was saying. Both men turned to see Victoria, red-faced and panting for breath, standing in the open doorway.

"It's Felipe," she managed to gasp out. "He's been shot."

" _What?_ " Don Alejandro shouted in disbelief. He placed a hand on Victoria's quaking shoulder.

Diego remained rooted where he stood, his stomach churning sickeningly. "Is he dead?" he asked, even though he could guess the answer.

Victoria shook her head. "He is still alive," she stated. Then tears started streaming down her cheeks. "At least he was when I left to come tell you."

There was a crowd gathered outside the doctor's office when Don Alejandro, Victoria, and Diego pulled up in front of it in the innkeeper's horse and cart. Diego's gut twisted painfully. This was what his _laissez-faire_ attitude had brought about, he thought guiltily. He could only pray now Felipe's young life wouldn't be snuffed out because of his foolishness.

The trio pressed their way through the townspeople, most of whom moved out of their way when they recognized the de la Vegas. "Where is he?" Don Alejandro inquired forcefully when they had entered the physician's rooms.

Doctor Hernandez came through a archway and shook his head. "I'm sorry," he replied sadly. "He's in God's hands now."

" _Oh, Dios mio, no_ ," Diego murmured. He pushed his way past the doctor to the examining area, his knees buckling as he stared at Felipe's still form in disbelief. "This wasn't suppose to happen," he bemoaned, his words thick with grief. "Not Felipe." 

"Diego, Diego." Two concerned voices penetrated his consciousness, two hands were placed on his shoulders. He looked to see Don Alejandro to his left and Victoria to his right. 

"What. . .? How did this happen?" he asked in a strangled tone. "Why did this happen?"

"It was. . . It was Bishop," Victoria said quietly, but Diego could hear a bitter note in her voice. "Bishop was aiming his pistol at Don Carlos when Felipe stepped in between them. Bishop shot Felipe at point blank range."

"What was he doing there?" he queried in a whisper. "He wasn't supposed to be there."

"He was bored," stated Don Alejandro. "He asked if he could ride into town, so I said he could." He closed his eyes and groaned. "I never should have let him go."

Diego could see the pain etched into his father's face and knew the old don was blaming himself. He patted the elder de la Vega on the shoulder. He recalled then the crushed look on Felipe's face when he had denied his request to come with him. If only he had agreed. . . "It's not your fault, Father," he said, his voice racked with guilt. "It's mine. I should have let him come with me. If I had, he wouldn't be. . .wouldn't be. . ."

_Maldita sea, Felipe was dead_. And it had been done by that gambler Bishop. What kind of a man would murder another over a game of cards? A man whose volatile temper and alleged cheating were indeed unwelcome additions to the pueblo de Los Angeles. A man who needed to be stopped before he killed again.

Diego looked down at Felipe's lifeless body for a moment before kneeling down beside the young man who had been both like a son and a brother to him. He took the nearest hand into his hand, its coldness touching the very core of his heart.

"I'm sorry, Felipe," he murmured softly. He bowed his head. Surely this couldn't be how the day was supposed to play out, ending in the death of another innocent bystander. 

But instead of dreading another repetition of the day, this time he wanted it more than ever. Because now he knew without a doubt what he had to do.

He had to kill Bishop.

Z Z Z


	5. Day Five

Diego awoke the next morning to his room once again bathed in bright sunlight. Forty minutes past eleven, he noted grimly as he swung his legs out of bed. He had wanted to rise earlier, but it was hardly surprising he had slept so late since he had been up most of the night haunted by images of Felipe's still, lifeless face. 

Hopefully he would be given another chance, another opportunity to make things right. Doing nothing had obviously been the wrong idea. Diego just prayed he wasn't too late, that Felipe was truly dead and he wouldn't get to correct his mistake.

Walking with apprehension toward the armoire which contained his clothing, Diego threw open the door. Releasing the breath he hadn't realized he was holding, he saw the blue suit hanging in the same position for its fifth morning in a row. Swinging around to look at the table beside his bed, he saw his book, the same one he had been reading for the past four days, was perched upon it.

_Gracias a Dios_ , the day was repeating itself. As optimism rose within him, Diego told himself there was one more factor he needed to see before he could be completely sure.

He dressed as quickly as he could then fled his room, half thrilled, half dreading what he would find. Diego skidded to a halt as he came upon the threshold of the dining room. There, at the table as he had been for the previous four mornings, sat his father. The plate containing what was left of his lunch sat in front of him.

"It's about time you got up." grumbled the old don. The complaint sounded like beautiful music to Diego's ears. He couldn't restrain from smiling himself as the elder de la Vega's face also broke out into a big grin. "You'll never believe it."

Diego twitched with anticipation as Don Alejandro reiterated the news of his nephew's impending fatherhood. Itching to go out to the stables to see for himself that Felipe was indeed still living, Diego gritted his teeth as he listened to his father chastened him about his unmarried state and lack of grandchildren.

" _Si_." Diego would have agreed to just about anything at that moment just so he could leave. 

Don Alejandro eyed him curiously, as he had all the previous mornings. "I'm going to send my congratulations right away," he announced. "I'll add your best wishes as well."

" _Gracias_." Diego watched as the elder de la Vega stood up, tossed his napkin onto his plate, then left the room. Instead of lingering over a cup of coffee as he had the other days, Diego departed hot on his father's heels.

Diego made his way swiftly to the stables. Upon entering the building, he took a deep breath, inhaling its scents of hay, horseflesh, and dung. Then Diego turned his head and relief swept him from head to toe. A very much alive Felipe was sitting on a bale of straw next to Paco, the stablemaster's son, and the two lads were scrubbing clean a couple of bridles.

Both youths jumped to their feet when they noticed his presence. Felipe waved goodbye to his friend and trotting up to Diego with an expectant expression on his face. Diego, overwhelmed by his feelings of guilt about the previous day's events, reached out and grasped Felipe on the shoulder, wanting to reassure himself the young man in front of him was real. He really wished he could hug the lad but decided it would be too awkward, since Felipe had no idea he had died the previous evening and would wonder about his mentor's sudden show of affection.

He shook his head at Felipe's gestured question about lessons. "No, no lessons today," he said, wincing when he realized he was repeating the fatal words he had uttered the previous day. He hated that he had to disappoint Felipe once again, but it was imperative that he confront Bishop before he and the others started their poker game. "There's an errand in town I need to take care of," he added, deliberately understating his mission. 

Felipe nodded then pointed toward Esperanza, Diego's mare. Diego blinked, realizing he hadn't thought that far ahead in his plan to eliminate Bishop. Whether or not he would do the evil deed as himself or as his masked alter ego.

His stomach roiled at the thought of killing a man in cold blood. It was something he had sworn never to do; to take a life; no matter the circumstances. But, he told himself sternly, this gambler had murdered everyone he loved, even though they had all miraculously come back to life. But he couldn't keep counting on that to happen, he couldn't keep relying on the day to reoccur until he got it right. 

He shook his head. Felipe then surreptitiously made a ‘Z' with his right index finger. " _Si_ ," Diego replied with a nod, making up his mind on the spot that his vile task would be somewhat easier if his face was hidden behind the black silk mask. "Come on."

On the way to the hacienda, it dawned on Diego Felipe wouldn't have a reason to go into the pueblo this time. That the youth would wait in the secret cave as he always did until Zorro arrived back safely. A huge burden lifted from his shoulders, as the worry the young man would again grow bored and seek permission to go into Los Angeles dissipated into thin air.

Diego reached the front door first and opened it then moved aside. As Felipe walked through, Diego patted him on the back again, still somewhat incredulous he was alive and not a figment of his imagination. Heaving a heavy sigh, Diego followed him inside.

Z Z Z

It was less than a half an hour later when an opening suddenly appeared in a tree-covered rock and a black horse carrying a black-clad man shot through it before it thudded closed once again. Fifteen minutes later, Zorro was sliding off Toronado's back at the rear of the tavern. He recalled Felipe telling him that first fateful day Bishop was staying there, in one of Victoria's best rooms. His anger flared at the thought of the gambler living so extravagantly off the backs of the hapless men he encountered.

The door leading into the kitchen was propped open, no doubt to let in some air on the unseasonably hot day. Zorro thought, and not for the first time, how difficult Victoria's chosen livelihood must be. Slaving over a hot fire day after day, spending hours on her feet, dealing with demanding and sometimes lecherous customers.

He peered around the door jamb and saw Victoria bustling about in her kitchen. A torrent of longing swept through him, as it always did when he saw her. As it even had the night before, as she and his father made arrangements for Felipe's funeral. It had been disconcerting to be with her and realizing she remembered nothing of Diego's declaration of love for her the previous day. She had treated him as she always did, as a friend, someone she would never consider as a suitor.

Irrational jealous stirred inside him. It was slightly insane to be envious of one's self, but he was and he didn't know how to stop it. Sighing deeply, his eyes scanned the room, making certain she was alone.

He stepped silently over the threshold, waiting for the moment the lovely innkeeper would notice his presence. The interval was short as she suddenly turned with a gasp, her beautiful face breaking into a heart-stopping smile.

"Zorro," she whispered breathlessly, sending a shiver of desire down his spine. They had a connection he felt keenly, either as himself or when wearing his mask. It was somewhat disheartening she only aware of it when he was disguised.

"Señorita." He swiftly covered the distance between them and took her hand, lifting it to his lips. "I hope I'm not disturbing you."

"Oh, no, Zorro," she replied as he released her hand which she immediately pressed against her bosom. She quirked up one corner of her smile. "What can I do for you today?"

He could think of several things she could do for him, none of them proper actions for an unmarried woman such as herself. Shaking his head to clear it of its indecent musing, he forced himself to recall his task at hand, distasteful as it was.

"The Americano, Bishop," he said tightly. "Which room is he staying in?"

"The one at the top of the stairs," Victoria answered, her voice full of curiosity. She tipped her puzzled face as she gazed up at him. "Why do you want to know? What has he done?"

_Oh, nothing_ , Zorro responded to himself sardonically, _just murdered everyone I care about_. He smiled in what he hoped was a reassuring manner before stating aloud, "I've heard some rumors about him. I need to check them out for myself."

To his relief, Victoria nodded. "He's been fleecing any of the caballeros who are foolish enough to play cards with him," she declared. "There's been some grumbling about cheating, but so far no one has accused him to his face." 

" _Gracias_ ," Zorro said before reaching for her hand once again. After placing another gallant kiss upon it, he let it go then darted over to the wall. Victoria barely had time to draw a breath when he had climbed over the top, dropping soundlessly onto the floor above. Smiling down at her, he gave her a smart salute before turning away, a grim shadow falling over his face. 

Stealthily, he crossed the hallway and stood in front of the door to the Americano's room. Not sure of what he would find inside, he unsheathed his saber before turning the handle. 

Bishop was sitting on his bed, playing a game of solitaire. The man jumped to his feet, scattering the cards on the counterpane as Zorro entered the room, quickly closing the door behind him. 

"Who the hell are you?" the gambler demanded gruffly. "And what the hell are you doing in my room?" 

"My name is Zorro," replied the masked man in a voice that was surprisingly icily calm. "You killed my father, my woman, and my ward. Prepare to die." 

He automatically shifted his body into the _en garde_ position, pointing his sword threateningly at the other man. His blade darted and struck Bishop on his right hand as he tried to lower that hand toward his boot. "I think not, Señor." Zorro sliced his saber downward, cutting through the leather like it was hot butter. A knife fell to the floor with a thud. The man in black kicked it under the bed with his left foot. 

"You're crazy," stated the Americano nervously. "I haven't killed anyone. I'm just a gambler." 

Zorro thrust the tip of his blade under Bishop's chin. "Only a gambler, you say," he retorted. "How many men have committed suicide once you have swindled them out of all their money, hmm?" 

Bishop sneered even though he was shaking with fear. "Nobody forced them to play cards with me," he declared. "How is it my fault that I'm a better player than they were?" 

"Their deaths are still on your head," Zorro replied. He pressed his point a little harder on the other man's skin. "You must be stopped before you kill again." 

Bishop stunned the man in black by laughing loudly. "You're insane," he said between guffaws. Then he drew a deep breath and his face became eerily sinister. "I don't think you have the guts to kill me," he challenged. "I think if you were truly going to kill me, you would have done it already." 

Beads of sweat rolled off Zorro's forehead and he could feel his mask becoming damp. The gambler was right, he should have killed him the moment he burst inside the room. Every second he hesitated, he lost a little more of his nerve. Zorro took a step backward, lifting the end of his sword from the other man's throat. 

The Americano sniggered jeeringly. "Hah, I was right. You can't do it." He sat back down onto the bed and started to gather up his cards. "Now get the hell out of my room." 

Now it was the masked man who trembled, although with anger, not fear. Anger directed at himself. Why had he ever thought he could murder someone? He had been kidding himself. Zorro moved back again. What was he going to do now? he wondered as his plan shattered around him. He couldn't let this man harm anymore of the people he loved. He couldn't let this gambler cheat. . . 

A sudden movement caught his eye and he realized Bishop had darted his hand under the quilt on the bed and had pulled out a pistol, the same one he had aimed at Zorro on three other occasions. 

" _Adios, Señor_ ," the Americano drawled insolently as he cocked his weapon's hammer, aiming its barrel straight for Zorro's heart. 

In the same instant that Bishop pulled the trigger, Zorro lunged forward, driving his saber through the gambler's abdomen. The bullet whistled through the man in black's hat, whisking it from his head. 

"You bastard," murmured the Americano as he fell backward onto the mattress, a trickle of blood running from his mouth. His eyes rolled back into his head and Zorro knew the other man was dead. 

He pulled out his sword, then stared at the blood dripping from the shining silver blade. Nausea roiled up inside him. _God forgive me_ , he pleaded as he fell to his knees, then lost the contents of his stomach, his saber landing on the floor beside him with a clang. 

The door to the room burst open and several men, including a couple lancers, stumbled into the room, led by the alcalde, no doubt drawn by the sound of the gunshot. "What is going on. . .?" Ramone began to shout but stopped himself as he surveyed the scene before him. "Well, well, well," he purred sarcastically. "Zorro caught red-handed in the act. And murder no less." 

The masked man stared up at him, thoughts racing wildly through his head. _Dear God_ , this wasn't supposed to happen. He wasn't supposed to be captured. He was supposed to have freed the pueblo from the gambler's evil presence then everyone was supposed to live happily ever after. Except for himself, of course. He would have dwelt ruefully on what he had done for the rest of his life. 

"Take him away," the alcalde instructed the two soldiers in the doorway. The pair strode forward and each grabbed one of Zorro's arms, pulling him to his feet. They turned as a group and the man in black found himself staring right into the commandante's gleeful face. 

"You're going to hang in the morning," Ramone announced jubilantly. He bent down and picked up the blood stained sword. "This is all the evidence I need." 

The lancers marched out of the room with their prisoner as the alcalde moved out of their way. Curious townspeople had saturated the lower floor of the tavern, all of them straining to learn what was happening. Loud gasps filled the air as they saw Zorro being led meekly down the stairs. 

"Alcalde." Zorro closed his eyes as Victoria pushed her way to the front of the crowd. "What. . .?" 

Ramone held aloft the masked man's saber for all to see. "He just killed a man upstairs. He's nothing but a vicious murderer as I have said all along," he announced triumphantly. 

Zorro opened his eyes and met the dark brown ones of the lovely innkeeper that were clouding over with tears. "I'm sorry," he murmured, the pain he saw on her face driving a stake through his heart. He wasn't surprised she spun away, pressing her way back through the gathered Angelenos. 

He realized as he was shoved into a cell he had never kissed her lips. Had never held her in his arms. The clattering of the door as it was shut and locked also made him aware he never had the chance to say goodbye to his father and Felipe. 

Dipping his mask covered head into his gloved hands, he despaired of his situation. Another bad idea gone wrong. Bishop was dead, that was true, and would never harm anyone ever again. But in his arrogance, he never even considered the chance he would apprehended in the course of his execution of the malicious cardsharp.

"Praying, Zorro?" The masked man glanced up at the alcalde's mocking question. "You hang in the morning. Not even God can help you now." 

With that, Ramone smiled viciously before quitting the jail. Zorro watched him go, then stretched out on his narrow cot. He stared up at the ceiling. 

There was no way out. There would be no escape of his fate. He had killed a man and for that he must be punished. He had to accept it was his destiny. 

But he didn't have to like it though, he thought as he felt tears leaking from the corners of his eyes.

Z Z Z


	6. Day Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just thought I'd warn everyone about a rather graphic bit of violence toward the end of this chapter. Unfortunately it is a integral part of the story. Sorry!

Bright sunlight filling the room greeted Diego as he opened his eyes the next morning. It has been a sleepless night for the most part, between the haunting images that keep sweeping through his mind and the uncomfortable and narrow cot he had to sleep on in his cell.

_Madre de Dios!_ He shot straight up into a sitting position as he took in his surroundings, gaping in disbelief. He was not in the cuartel jail where he had spent the night, but in his own bedroom. Diego turned to look at the clock on his bedside table. The small hand rested near the twelve while the longer hand stood on the eight. And there, once again, was the book,  Phytologia, resting next to the timepiece.

Diego jumped from the bed and strode over to the armoire, wrenching open its door. The blue suit hung there in the first position once again.

_Gracias a Dios!_ He was being given another chance to set matters right, he mused as he threw on his clothes. But what exactly he was supposed to change was still a mystery. A mystery he needed to solve if he wanted to break the cycle of this continuing nightmarish day.

He once again encountered his father in the dining room, where the elder de la Vega repeated the news about his cousin Rafael's impending fatherhood. Diego didn't even have to listen anymore as he had the whole conversation committed to memory. 

Diego recalled the last time he had seen the elder de la Vega. It had been the preceding evening when the old don had stormed into the alcalde's office and started shouting for Zorro's release. It wasn't until Ramone had led his father into the jail Diego realized Felipe had also accompanied him.

"How can you accuse Zorro of murder?" Don Alejandro had queried querulously. The man in black had sat up on his cot but kept his gaze aimed toward his boots.

The alcalde had reached over and removed Zorro's saber from a burlap bag. The blade was still covered with Bishop's blood. "Because I found him in the deceased's room with this on the floor beside him."

"Wasn't there a shot fired?" the elder de la Vega had countered. Zorro noticed some of the anger had left the older man's tone, replaced by a note of disappointment. "It must have been self-defense."

Ramone had shrugged. "I wouldn't know," he had stated. He raised his right hand to indicate the man in the cell. "He hasn't uttered a word since he was arrested. Not even in his own defense."

Zorro had shut out the rest of the exchange between the two men. He had made the mistake of glancing up and meeting Felipe's eyes. The pain and disillusionment he had seen there drove another dagger into his heart. 

"Diego!" His father's impatient bark stirred him from his anguished memories.

" _Si?_ " 

"I'm going to send my congratulations right away," the old don announced. "I'll add your best wishes as well."

" _Gracias_."

Don Alejandro eyed him curiously before he left the room. Diego sat down at the table after pouring himself a cup of the bitter tepid coffee from the urn on the sideboard.

As he sipped the vile brew, he reviewed everything that had happened to him in past five days and what he had learned so far. His presence at the tavern seemed to be required. The book was necessary if only to keep his father from riding into the pueblo and being killed by Bishop. Felipe's lessons were also an important element as they too kept him from dying at the hands of the corrupt gambler.

Diego's palm hit the tablecloth in frustration. There had be something, something crucial that was needed to change the day's outcome. And it was probably so obvious he kept overlooking it.

He drained his coffee cup then rose. He had several more hours to mull over his options before he had to go to Los Angeles. Perhaps the answer would come to him if he could just clear his mind. Squaring his shoulders determinedly, he headed out of the hacienda and toward the stables.

Z Z Z

Diego was disgusted with himself as he rode toward the pueblo three hours later. His intention of meditating on the solution to his problem had not come to fruition. Instead he had spent the time while Felipe studied his calculus, history, and literature dwelling on what had happened the previous day.

He kept glancing at Felipe's youthful face and remembering how bloodless it had been on the day he had been killed. Then visions of Victoria's and his father's pale, lifeless countenances swirled about his mind. He thought he had been doing the right thing by eliminating their murderer but he had been so wrong. Every time he closed his eyes, he could see the life draining from Bishop's face, could feel the other man's warm blood as it seeped through the leather of his gloves. His stomach kept churning with nausea.

It was quite unfair he was the only one who had to live with these disturbing pictures stuck in his mind. No one else, as far as he knew, was reliving this same day over and over again. Why him? Why had he been selected to endure this agonizing torture? What had he done to deserve it? 

Diego shook his head to clear it of its self-pitying thoughts. The whys and whats were not important. He needed to put a stop to it, and soon, before he truly went insane. 

When he reached Los Angeles, he headed straight for the tavern, where he dismounted his mare before tying her to the hitching rail provided in front of the building.

" _Buenas tardes_ , Diego." 

His father's friend, Don Sebastian Valverde greeted him from the left side of the inn's porch. " _Hola_ ," Diego replied as he stepped onto the wooden planks carrying his tome on agricultural philosophy. The older man indicated the empty space beside him and Diego sat down. "How are you today, Don Sebastian?" he asked the balding caballero.

" _Bueno_ ," Don Sebastian responded. "How is your father? Is he with you?"

"He is well," Diego declared then shook his head. "He's catching up on his accounts this afternoon."

The older man nodded then took a sip from his glass. Diego glanced over at the opposite table where the sight of Bishop sitting with a large pile of coins in front of him caused his guts to wrench even though he had known the other man was alive once again. He watched as the cardsharp dealt out another round of cards to Don Esteban, Don Jose, and Don Carlos. Don Carlos. . . Maybe he was the key all this. 

He inclined his head toward the gamblers. "How come you haven't joined them?" he inquired as he recalled asking the same question that first fateful day.

The answer was the same as Diego remembered. "I'm not a gambling man," stated Don Sebastian. He too looked over at his three friends and shook his head. "Don Esteban and Don Jose can afford to lose a peso or two," he explained, "but Don Carlos. . ." He shook his head again. "He's about to lose everything."

Diego felt a sudden surge of ire at his companion's apathetic attitude about one of his amigos bankrupting himself. "Why can't you stop him?" he demanded, barely keeping his anger in check. "He's your friend. Surely there must be something you can do?"

The older man sighed heavily. "Diego, you're young yet," he said in a patronizing tone. "There are some matters of honor in which a man shouldn't interfere, you see. Gaming is one of them."

Don Sebastian took another drink from his cup while Diego saw red. The caballeros of Los Angeles; his father included it seemed; were just going to stand idly by and watch as their friend descended into insolvency. 

"So that's that," Diego said crossly.

" _Si_ , Diego," replied Don Sebastian. "Don Carlos is nearly penniless anyway. The only way he can pay back what he owes is to sell off his land. No one can help him now."

Diego didn't want to believe that. He felt compelled to do something. To either stop the foolish old don from frittering away his entire inheritance or to stop the situation from escalating into death threats.

_That was it!_ He almost fell off the bench as the idea struck him. He had to stop Don Carlos from losing the last of his money. And, more importantly, he had to keep him from accusing Bishop of cheating.

It was so simple, he felt like an idiot for not thinking of it before. Without Don Carlos blaming the Americano for his losses, there would be no bad blood between the two men. The old don could maybe salvage some of his property and some of his dignity. All Diego had to do was to interfere in some way, despite Don Sebastian's advice to the contrary. 

Don Sebastian and the other two men sitting at the table; Don Arturo and Pedro Gonzales, the bank manager; got up and left, tossing coins onto the table as they excused themselves. Diego nodded at them vaguely, deep in thought, mulling over in his mind a reason to draw Don Carlos away from the card game.

"Lemonade?"

He jerked himself to awareness of his surroundings and stared up at Victoria, who was holding a pitcher and a glass, and wearing a bewitching smile. " _Si_ ," he croaked. " _Por favor_."

The lovely innkeeper set the cup down in front of him then filled it. Diego just stared at her, still somewhat incredulous she was alive and had no memory of his declaration of love three days earlier. To her, this day had never happened before, she had no idea he was reliving it for the sixth time. No one else knew the anguish that was his alone.

He thanked her politely and she gave him a curious look before she sauntered over to the other table to see to their refreshments. Diego watched as Victoria smiled and joked with the three caballeros but held something back when she dealt with the Americano. 

_Good_ , he thought, glad she recognized the gambler was someone to be wary of. And, it suddenly hit him, this would be the perfect opportunity to call Don Carlos away from the game of chance that was draining his fortune. Diego got to his feet, setting his book aside.

"Don Carlos," he greeted the older man as he walked toward him. He put his hand on the caballero's shoulder. "Can I speak with you for a moment?"

Don Carlos looked up at him, a frown on his face. "All right," he replied sourly, tossing his cards down onto the table. He rose and followed Diego over to the other side of the porch. "Well?" he asked grumpily after he and Diego had sat down.

"I've heard that you might have some horses for sale," Diego inquired, knowing he had heard no such rumor but it might be true all the same considering the other man's financial state. "Father and I are looking for a couple of brood mares." At least that statement wasn't a falsehood.

"I do have a couple I could sell," the old don conceded grudgingly. He began to describe several of his mares as Diego listened attentively.

It was nearly an hour later after Diego had agreed to purchase two horses from Don Carlos he noticed someone else was occupying the caballero's vacant seat. Then groaned aloud when he realized that someone was Sergeant Mendoza.

"Is something wrong?" Don Carlos asked nervously.

Diego shook his head. "No, everything is fine," he fibbed again. "I just have to let my father know of our deal." 

The old don nodded. He opened his mouth as if he intended to say something else, but was interrupted as loud moans of defeat rose up from the other table. Diego looked over as Bishop smiled gloatingly at his companions before uttering, "Gentlemen, the cards don't lie."

Diego watched as Mendoza jumped up from his chair, staring at the cards on the table in dismay, in an eerie replay of the same action he had seen three other times played out by Don Carlos. 

But then the stout sergeant veered from the script. "You cheated!" he accused brashly.

Diego didn't realize Mendoza was an accomplished enough player to even recognize he was being swindled. A stunned silence hung over the men on the porch as they seemed to hold their collective breath, waiting for the Americano's reaction.

The gambler glanced around with an insincere smile on his face. "Prove it," he challenged arrogantly.

"I. . .I. . ." sputtered the sergeant, suddenly not so bold. "You. . .You. . .just did. I just know you did.

"You have a big mouth, my friend," Bishop declared with more than a hint of menace in his words.

"I'm not your friend, Señor," retorted Mendoza, suddenly angrier than Diego had ever seen him before as the lancer moved around the table to stand face to face with the other man. "You're a cheat. This is a peace-loving pueblo. We don't need your kind here. I'm giving you until sundown to leave Los Angeles."

"And if I don't?" the Americano queried, fury burning in his narrowed eyes.

"Then you will be arrested and jailed," the sergeant explained through clenched teeth. "And your ill-gotten money will be given back to those you stole it from.

"It doesn't seem like I have much of a choice, do I?" Bishop was smiling disingenuously, glancing around at all the tense faces surrounding him.

"No, Señor," Mendoza shook his head. "You don't." He pointed a stubby finger at the other man. "Until sundown, Señor."

The portly soldier took a step backward and started to turn on his heel. Bishop reached downward as he brought up his right knee.

"No man calls me a cheat and lives," he hissed. He pulled a knife from his boot and slashed it across the sergeant's throat.

Diego leapt to his feet in time to catch Mendoza's falling body, keeping him from striking his head on the edge of the table. It was a useless gesture, he noted as he stared in horror at the amount of blood flowing from the lancer's neck. Knowing his efforts were futile, Diego still tore off his jacket and pressed it up against Mendoza's throat.

Bishop used the confusion to escape, using his knife to cut the reins of a horse tied to the tavern's hitching rail before springing up onto its back. Diego looked up in time to see it was his mare the cardsharp had taken, using her to ride furiously out of town.

He turned his attention back to the soldier he held in his arms and knew his friend was dead. All around him, chaos swirled as men shouted and ran about, some going to chase after the murderous Americano, some to fetch Doctor Hernandez. 

To Diego, everything had happened so fast he hadn't even had time to transform himself into Zorro as he had the other times. But now it didn't matter, for once again he had changed nothing. Because once again someone, this time Mendoza, had been killed.

And he was the one to blame.

Z Z Z


	7. Day Seven

It was with not a little trepidation Diego opened his eyes the next morning. Or what was left of the morning as he noted it was nearly noon. As he stared at the clock for a moment, he saw the book he had been reading was once more perched next to it on the night stand. With a sigh, he arose from his bed and approached the armoire. The fact his blue suit was hanging inside, clean and pressed, failed to surprised him.

He closed his eyes and remembered what it had looked like the last time he had seen it, covered in the good sergeant's blood. He recalled the panic in Mendoza's eyes as the soldier realized he was dying. It was something Diego would never forget, no matter how hard he tried.

Plopping back down onto his bed, he lowered his head into his hands. Dear God, what was he supposed to do. Would this day just keep on repeating itself over and over again? What if he never figured out what he was supposed to do to stop it? Would he eventually just give up or go insane?

Groaning with frustration, he got back up on his feet. Maybe he should change nothing. Maybe he should do everything exactly as he had done that first day. His legs trembled at the thought of Victoria being killed again, as it went against every chivalrous instinct he possessed to let her come to any harm.

Maybe whatever he was supposed to do differently would come to him as the day progressed. Diego sighed wearily. Nothing he had thought of so far had been the answer, what made him think this day's outcome wouldn't be as horrific as the other six?

Diego took the blue jacket and trousers off of their hangers and dressed. Then he made his way out to the dining room where for the seventh day in a row, his father sat at the table, the remains of his lunch on the plate in front of him.

"It's about time you got up," grumbled Don Alejandro as Diego ambled into the room. Then the old don broke into a big grin. "You'll never believe it."

Diego looked at his father. Did the elder de la Vega really have no clue that he had uttered these same words for seven mornings in a row? He shook his head incredulously. "Never believe what?" he inquired as he walked over to the sideboard and poured himself a cup of coffee.

"Your cousin Rafael is going to be a father!" The elder de la Vega's eyes once again danced with excitement. "Isn't that wonderful?"

"Of course," Diego agreed automatically. And actually, it truly was, now that he thought about it. His cousin would make an excellent father. It was his wife who had Diego a bit concerned. The flighty Margarita had fallen in love with Zorro while the couple had visited Los Angeles nearly a year earlier, before she and Rafael had married. He only hoped she had learned her lesson and realized what a good man her husband was.

"Diego, son," his father's voice broke into his thoughts, "it's about time you settled down, found yourself a wife." He stared expectantly at Diego. "I want grandchildren!" he added emphatically.

"I know, Father," replied Diego before adding softly, "Believe me, I know." Now that he knew life was short and full of unpredictable pitfalls, he knew he needed to grant the elder de la Vega's fondest wish sooner than later. 

His father eyed him curiously. "I'm going to send my congratulations right away," he announced. "I'll add your best wishes as well."

" _Gracias_."

Diego waited until the old don quitted the room before sitting down. Sipping his cold and bitter brew, he once again contemplated his destiny, mulling over all the details he had so far deemed important. The book, Felipe's lessons, his presence at the tavern, and, so it seemed, Zorro's inference as well. There was still one missing piece of the puzzle, one little fact that would change everything and put his world to rights once more.

He set down his cup and pushed away from the table. Time to get on with it, he told himself, heaving a weary sigh. He strode from the dining room, intent on finding Felipe in the stables then commencing with the very crucial lessons.

Z Z Z

It was several hours later before Diego rode into the pueblo. He and Felipe had spent that time immersed in calculus, ancient history, and conjugating French verbs, just as they had done on the first three days and the previous day as well.

He noted, as he dismounted his mare in front of the tavern, it was still an unseasonable warm day. After he had tied Esperanza's reins to the hitching rail, he looked up to see the all too familiar tableau of the men on the tavern's porch. 

Diego recalled how Felipe had informed him about an Americano gambler on that first fateful day, how he had been aggressively persuading the men of Los Angeles into playing his games of chance. Little had he known then this Bishop would be the cause of so much discord and death. Shaking his head, he walked up onto the wooden planks of the porch.

" _Buenas tardes_ , Diego," his father's old friend, Don Sebastian called out from the table on the left side of the building.

" _Hola_ , Don Sebastian," Diego replied. The caballero indicated the empty space on the bench beside him and Diego sat down, setting his book by Erasmus Darwin on the tabletop. He tipped his head toward the opposite side of the porch. "How come you haven't joined them?" he asked, although he had already heard the answer many times.

The old don shook his head. "I'm not a gambling man," he confided. He turned slightly and watched his trio of friends sitting at the other table. "Don Esteban and Don Jose can afford to lose a peso or two, but Don Carlos. . ." He sadly shook his head again. "He's about to lose everything."

"It's that bad?" queried Diego lightly, although inside he was raging once again at the though of the other caballeros' blasé attitude about their amigo bankrupting himself. And he was once again exasperated with Don Carlos himself, of the older man's careless handling of the inheritance his father had left to him five years earlier. Maybe it was because he had no heir to pass it on to, but in Diego's mind that was a pitiful excuse. There were always the estate's tenants who could benefit from such a situation.

" _Si_ , Diego." Don Sebastian's voice broke through his musings. "Don Carlos is nearly penniless. The only way he can pay back what he owes is to sell off his land."

"What a shame," murmured Diego with more politeness than he was feeling. He shot a glance over at the cards players, watching as Bishop dealt another hand, driving another nail into Don Carlos's financial coffin. What a senseless waste, he thought before picking up his book and opening to where it was marked.

He made the pretense of reading, his mind too filled with troubling thoughts to really concentrate on the printed words on the pages. It didn't help matters Victoria interrupted him several times, offering him lemonade and a smile. The refreshment was welcomed. Her smile only caused him to have even more troublesome, frustrating thoughts. 

Nothing he had done so far felt as though it needed to change. But, he asked himself mockingly, was he expecting to be hit with a bolt of lightening at precisely the right moment? He couldn't count on it and he shouldn't, he informed himself angrily. Still, he had to do something. If he didn't, there was a very good chance the woman filling his glass with juice was going to once again die in his arms later on that day.

It was about an hour later the anticipated groans came from the opposite table. "Gentlemen, the cards don't lie," announced Bishop arrogantly, spreading his hand on the table.

Diego watched almost dispassionately as Don Carlos leapt from his chair, staring at the gambler's cards in disbelief. Obviously he must have figured to have had a better hand than did the Americano, Diego reflected bitterly. 

The old caballero turned and walked across the porch to where Diego now sat by himself, his companions having taken their leave some time earlier. Putting his right index finger into his book to hold his place, Diego looked up at his father's friend. "Don Carlos. Lovely evening, isn't it?" he said, making no effort to hide his sardonic tone.

The other man didn't pick up on it. "Not particularly," he replied disagreeably. "It's too hot."

Diego darted a quick glimpse of the men still at the other table, who were already engaging in another round of poker. "How the game going?" he asked, although he knew the answer all too well.

"Terrible." Don Carlos's brusque response was spoken a second before he sat down in an empty chair next to Diego's.

"The only man who wins at poker," advised Diego coolly, "is the one who doesn't play." He knew, of course, the message would be totally lost on the other man. But still, they were words he had used that first day, and they still held true on the seventh.

Then, even though he was aware of what was going to happen next, Diego couldn't help but feel a rush of rage directed at his table mate. No one should bandy about the accusation Don Carlos was about to fling, not without serious proof. 

"I don't like being cheated," the old don announced loudly, glaring over his shoulder at his erstwhile companions and Bishop in specific.

Diego heard the collective intake of breath as the cardsharp deliberately rose to his feet, pushing back his chair, then sauntered up to stand beside Don Carlos, looming over him ominously. "You have a big mouth, my friend," the Americano stated in a congenial voice that quite didn't cover up the threat hidden in his words.

The caballero yet again jumped out of his sea, the legs of the chair screeching unpleasantly across the wooden planks of the porch. Mendoza's broad face appeared in the doorway of the tavern, filling Diego with both relief his old friend was still alive, and dread the portly lancer's intervention could possibly cost him his life as it had the previous day. He barely noted the two other lancers on either side of the sergeant or that Victoria hovered apprehensively behind him.

"What is the problem, _señores_?" the stout soldier queried as he pulled nervously at his uniform.

"No man calls me a cheat and lives," Bishop answered, a polite smile still plastered on his face, although his hostile glare never left Don Carlos's pale face.

"This is a peace-loving pueblo," stated Mendoza firmly, though his words were belied by his uneasy tugging of his tunic. "You will act like gentlemen while you are here or you will go to jail for disturbing the peace."

Diego let out the breath he hadn't realized he was holding when a few moments later, the sergeant and the two other lancers stepped off the porch, making their way back to the cuartel. True, they thought they had diffused the volatile situation between the cardsharp and the caballero. But Diego knew differently and it was born out as soon as the soldiers' backs were turned.

The civil manner had disappeared as Bishop shook a scrap of paper in Don Carlos's face. "I'll give you a week to pay this note," he announced darkly before spinning around and rejoining the remaining card players at the opposite table.

Diego made his excuses then even though no one paid him any attention as all their focus was on the Americano and Don Carlos. He threw a worried glance over his shoulder at Victoria as he rode out of the pueblo. Unless he changed something, she was going to die. And he couldn't let that happen again..

Z Z Z

Zorro skulked by the left side of the tavern a little more than a half an hour later. The scene was as he remembered it, Victoria was trying to persuade a intoxicated Don Carlos he needed to go home. The masked man watched in disgust as the old don's hands shook as he took another long sip from his cup.

The poker game was breaking up. Zorro turned his notice to Don Esteban and Don Jose as they pocketed their meager winnings, somewhat astonished the Americano hadn't totally cleaned out their purses.

The cardsharp in question swaggered over to Don Carlos's table as the caballero was about to take another drink. "You're a dead man," Bishop hissed into the other man's ashen face.

Don Carlos slammed down his cup as he jumped unsteadily to his feet. Zorro's heart leaped into his throat as Victoria twirled around and confronted Bishop. "Haven't you caused enough trouble?" she asked crossly as she rose up onto her toes to fix him with what she must have thought was a menacing stare. "Get out of here!"

The Americano ignored her demand with a smirk. "No man calls me a cheat," he stated hostilely as he glared at Don Carlos.

"Suppose we just call you foolishly bad-tempered?" Zorro suggested derisively as he stepped upon the tavern's porch.

Bishop laughed mirthlessly as he reached his hand behind his back then brandished a pistol he must have had hidden in the waistband of his trousers. But as soon as he aimed the weapon at Zorro's heart, the gun was knocked from his hand as the man in black's whip lashed out with a loud crack. The pistol fell onto the table with a thud.

Zorro stepped forward as he recoiled his whip. "Go home, Señor," he instructed Don Carlos, "and next time, don't play cards with strangers."

The old don nodded humbly before making his way toward his horse. The masked man picked up the Americano's weapon from the table, turning his attention from the departing caballero to Bishop, whose eyes were shooting daggers at him as he rubbed his stinging fingers.

"A man who returned verbal insults with a bullet is a most unwelcome addition to Los Angeles," Zorro declared. "Temper your anger, for next time I won't be so forgiving."

He then looked down at the pistol in his hand. What had he done with it on the other days he had confronted the crooked gambler? The first day he recalled stuffing it into the waist of his own trousers; the second he thought he had done the same. On the third day, he was almost sure that he had just left the gun on the table.

The man in black narrowed his eyes. He knew Bishop was hiding a knife in his boot. The same knife he remembered vividly protruding from Victoria's chest; and the flank of his father's mare, Dulcinea; and penetrating deep into his own torso. It had stabbed Felipe in the heart, and the all too fresh memory of it slashing Sergeant Mendoza's throat lingered in his mind as well.

Maybe he was supposed to return the pistol to its owner. Although he couldn't fathom how Bishop would be able to do less harm with the gun rather than his blade. But. . . for some reason. . .it felt like the right thing to do. He extended his hand toward the Americano, holding the pistol at him butt first.

Bishop snatched the weapon from his hand, then glaring at him one last time, he walked off the tavern porch. Zorro watched as the cardsharp ambled across the plaza toward the livery. Then he turned his attention to Victoria, taking her right hand and leading her to the edge of the porch.

"I should see that Don Carlos makes his way home safely," he stated, even though he still really wished he could kiss her until they were both sated. But once again he whistled for Toronado before gentlemanly kissing her hand.

He had placed his foot in the stirrup when he felt something grabbing his arm. "Zorro, no!" he heard Victoria shout out the warning. But it was too late by the time he has spun around. There had been a loud popping sound and he stared in horror as he saw the lovely innkeeper slump against one of the pillars holding up the porch's canopy.

Zorro glanced up for a second to see the Americano crouching beside the stables, his smoking pistol still pointed in his direction. The gambler darted away and the masked man rushed over to take Victoria into his arms before she hit the ground.

"It was Bishop," she breathed, telling him what he already knew. He gazed down at her, aware of the bright red stain slowly seeping through her white cotton blouse. The wound was lower on her left side, and he felt a tide of optimism sweep over him. The bullet had missed her heart and if his calculations were correct, her lung as well. She wasn't going to die, at least not at that moment.

"Victoria," he said softly as he pressed his gloved hand up against her injury. "It's all right." He kissed the top of her head before adding, "Everything is going to be all right." 

Dear God, he prayed fervently, please let everything be all right.

Z Z Z


	8. Day Eight

Diego was afraid to open his eyes. Afraid of where he would find himself; in his own bed, with the book Phytologia resting beside his clock, and his blue suit hanging in his wardrobe. He was terrified of yet again having to relive the day he had already lived through seven times.

So instead of rousing himself, he let his mind drift to the previous day's events. In some ways it had been similar to the first day; Zorro having to dash off to avoid being captured or shot by the Alcalde's men. Having to trust Victoria to the care of Don Jose and Don Esteban.

But after that, everything had been different. He had gone with his father to the physician's office, not the undertaker's. Doctor Hernandez had removed the bullet but was still pessimistic about Victoria's chances of recovery. One of her ribs had been cracked, which would heal slowly and painfully. And there was always the risk of infection.

Don Alejandro had insisted that she be brought to the hacienda so she could received the round-the-clock care she needed. Diego remembered holding her in his arms in the back of the jostling wagon and thinking how both agonizing and heavenly it had been.

They had settled Victoria in the best guest room and Diego had volunteered to keep the first vigil. But obviously he had fallen asleep, had fallen down on his duty to ensure she was resting comfortably and that her condition hadn't deteriorated.

And now he was too much of a coward to face whatever he would find when he opened his eyes. _Maldita sea_ , he scolded himself. _Just do it. Just wake up_. He couldn't sleep away the rest of his life, no matter how much he wanted to, just so he could avoid the trouble of figuring out what he had to do to change things. It was true he was weary of the reoccurring day and the unpleasantness it brought with it. But that just wasn't a good enough excuse, he rebuked himself.

Lethargically, Diego allowed himself to become aware of his surroundings. His first sensation was that he was not lying on a bed but seated in a rather cushiony chair. Then he realized the sunlight was coming from a different direction than it would be if he was in his bedroom.

Then thirdly, he took a deep breath and an aroma reached his nostrils, an intriguing blend of chile peppers and spices with just a hint of roses. A scent he knew belonged to one person alone.

Diego's eyes flew open. _Madre de Dios_ , he wasn't in his room. There wasn't a tome on agricultural philosophy on the night table. Looking down, he saw that he was wearing his blue trousers and they were somewhat the worse for wear.

Then he raised his gaze to the woman lying so still on the bed. He held his breath until he perceived the slight rising and falling of her chest. _Gracias a Dios!_ He had done it! The nightmarish day was finally over.

Diego's elation was quickly doused as he stared over at Victoria. She was still gravely ill. But, a giddy little voice inside his head piped up, she wasn't dead. She was alive and it was a new day. His heart could still rejoice even though his mind was still crowded with worry.

He knelt down beside the bed, praying for his good fortune. Then he touched her hand with his, basking in its warmth. Maybe a little too warm, he thought anxiously. He leaned over and placed the inside of his wrist onto her forehead. _Dios mio_ , she was burning with fever.

There was a pitcher of cool water on the bedside table and a folded cloth. _Gracias a Dios_ , Maria, he thought, thanking the de la Vegas's housekeeper for her efficiency. He dipped the white cotton fabric into the water and then squeezed it before wiping Victoria's flushed face with it. 

He was wondering if he should examine her wound when Don Alejandro strode into the room. "Arrgh," growled the elder de la Vega in a very frustrated tone. "Diego, you'll never believe it." 

Diego froze. _Oh, dear God, no_ , he pleaded. _No_. His father couldn't have just repeated the same words he had uttered for the previous seven days; he couldn't be about to announce his cousin's impending fatherhood. The day _had_ changed. It had to have changed, he implored desperately. 

Someone must have heard his prayers as the old don continued on. "The alcalde, he refuses to press charges against that Bishop," he stated angrily as Diego sighed with relief. "He said that it was Victoria's own fault for aiding and abetting a known outlaw." 

Don Alejandro snorted. "Then," he added, his voice rising with temper, "then he had the audacity to say that. . .that gambler was doing the pueblo a service by shooting at Zorro. Then. . ." The elder de la Vega declared through clenched teeth. "Then he told me that Bishop and Carlos were meeting tomorrow at dawn. And that Los Angeles would be well rid of my friend," he added in a loud burst. 

A soft moan came from the bed and Diego turned his attention to Victoria, who was stirring agitatedly. "Father, please," he chided. 

" _Perdone_." His father was instantly subdued as he gazed down at the woman in the bed. "How is she?" 

"Feverish," Diego stated brusquely. He re-dampened the cloth and place it gently on Victoria's forehead. 

The old don nodded. "I saw Hernandez in town," he related. "He said he'd come by later this afternoon." Don Alejandro shook his head before adding, "I'm going to try to talk some sense into Carlos. _Adios_." 

As his father left the room, Diego wasn't surprised at all by what he had told him. It had been the alcalde's fondest desire to see the masked man brought to justice, so anyone who tried to kill Zorro would be a hero in Ramone's eyes. And that the cardsharp and Don Carlos were to duel. . . Well, the caballero had accused Bishop of cheating without any proof, what had he expected? 

Sighing, Diego shook his head. That didn't make it right. Dueling was illegal, as it never had been no more than an honorable way to commit murder. His father was justified in being angry with their alcalde. He was, too. 

But for now there was nothing he could do about it. His only priority, he told himself, was to ensure that the woman he loved recovered from the wound he had allowed her to receive just so he could selfishly put an end to his repeating nightmare. Nothing else could matter until then. 

He sat back down in the chair next to Victoria's bed and took her hand in his. With his other hand, he pushed a lock of her raven hair off of her forehead. 

"If you die, Victoria, Zorro will die with you," he vowed solemnly, bringing her hand to his lips.

Z Z Z

**Day Sixteen**

"Well, I for one am sorry this is your last night here, my dear," declared Don Alejandro a week later as he, Diego, Felipe, and Victoria were sitting around the dining room table enjoying their evening meal. Victoria had recovered from her gunshot wound and would be returning to the tavern the next morning. 

"I need to get back to my business," the lovely innkeeper replied. "Not that I don't appreciate what you and Diego have done for me while I was ill." 

She beamed beatifically first at the elder de la Vega then at Diego, whose reaction was one which shouldn't happen while at the dinner table. He glanced down embarrassedly at his plate and tried to think of something else. Like the fact the past seven days had not been that much better than the previous ones had been. At least they had all been different, Diego mused as he stabbed a piece of steak with his fork. 

Victoria's condition had been touch and go for several days. Her fever had lingered as her wound had grown infected. She had come very close to dying, and he had come very close to losing the woman he loved. 

Diego's grip on his fork tightened. The last couple of days since Victoria had risen from her sickbed had become a sweet kind of torture. She seemed to be everywhere in the hacienda, not only physically but mentally as well as her scent of spices and roses filled each room she visited. She belongs here, he thought passionately as he squirmed uncomfortably in his chair. 

Again he turned his mind to the events of the last few days. The death of his father's amigo, Don Carlos, in the duel with the Americano. His decision to give up his alter-ego then Victoria and Felipe changing his mind. Preventing his father from dueling with Bishop. 

It was one of the few instances where he had actually enjoyed the physical fight that the cardsharp had insisted upon. Diego couldn't quite repress the grin that twitched his lips at the memory of his fist smashing into the gambler's smug face as he vented his frustration out on the other man. 

Victoria's voice broke into his gratifying memories. "If you'll excuse me," she said as she put her napkin on her plate. All three men got to their feet as she rose from her chair. "I have a lot to do before tomorrow." 

"Of course," Don Alejandro acquiesced with a polite bow. Victoria smiled then exited the room. 

Diego placed his napkin on his plate as well. "Excuse me as well," he said. "With all the excitement lately, I've neglected an experiment I was working on." He ignored Felipe's knowing smile and his father's groan of annoyance as he quitted the dining room. 

[most of the following taken from "Broken Heart, Broken Mask" written by Eugene Pressman]

Close to a half an hour later, Zorro stood in the shadows of the courtyard, watching as Victoria twirled around the poles that held up the canopy, a rapturous expression on her beautiful face. He wondered for a moment if her happiness was due to the fact she was going home in the morning or just that she was alive. 

If there had been anything that he had learned from the past two weeks, it was that he was tired of deferring what a man who was nearly thirty should be doing. Like marrying the woman he loved and providing his father with a hacienda full of grandchildren. 

He realized Victoria's feelings for the masked man were more than just hero worship. She had stepped in front of him twice, sacrificing herself for the good of the pueblo. Zorro had no doubt if he hadn't altered the other five days, she would have done the same thing on those days as well. 

It had to stop. He couldn't allow her to put herself in harm's way for him anymore. Somehow he had to convince her to give up her dreams of riding off into the sunset with Zorro and to start to look elsewhere for a husband. Although he hoped she would look no farther than the de la Vega hacienda. 

Victoria sauntered over to the post directly in front of him before turning and leaning against it. She opened her fan, waving it in front of her face. It was still unseasonably warm, the man in black conceded with a smile, which faded as the scent of roses washed over him, sending a jolt of desire clear down to his toes. 

As he tried vainly to tamp down his lust, she suddenly spun around, a small gasp escaping her lips. 

"Señor Zorro." 

Her breathless tone did little to settle his powerful yearning for her. His feet moved forward, almost of their own volition. "You look lovelier than ever," he whispered, drinking in her shining eyes and joyous smile. He hadn't bother with his gloves, as he didn't intend to ride anywhere. So it was with his bare hand he reached up to stroke her soft cheek.

"Thank you," Victoria replied, a pretty blush rising on her face. "I am feeling much better." 

He stared down at her, drinking in her beauty as his fingers caressed her face. "I've been thinking," he murmured huskily before taking a deep breath then adding, "You should have a husband." 

Her eyes sparkled excitedly as she gazed up at him. _She's expecting me to propose_ , he realized. For a moment, he wavered; forgot about his purpose of steering her away from her masked hero, forgetting everything but the love and desire he felt for her. The words ‘marry me' almost tumbled from his lips but he stopped them just in time as he tore his eyes from hers. 

"You should have a husband," he reiterated, "Someone like. . ." He inhaled, trying to draw in as much courage as he did air. "Someone like Diego, perhaps." 

Zorro watched as her happy expression vanished, to be replaced by a combination of disappointment and confusion. "Like. . .Like Diego?" she stammered uncertainly. He flinched at the note of dejection in her voice. Her eyes, which were beginning to fill with tears, searched his, which he prayed were as masked as his face. 

"I thought. . ." she began hesitantly, "I thought we shared certain feelings." 

"We do," he replied, unable to lie to her, the tremulous smile on her lips breaking his heart. "More than you'll ever know." His hand traced her jaw down to her neck, then made its way to rest on her shoulder as they stared raptly at each other. The air around them fairly shimmered with longing. 

Victoria's lips parted but then she gave her head a tiny shake. She lifted herself up onto her toes and pressed her lips to his. Shock, as well as a healthy dose of lust, shot through him from the top of his head to the bottom of his feet. The thought he should resist was rudely shoved to the back of his mind as he hungrily returned her kiss. 

He placed his hand onto the small of her back and drew her toward his hardening body until they were pressed closely together. He could feel every curve, every swell of her, which only intensified his yearnings. He slipped his tongue between her lips and she offered no resistance but instead met it with her own. 

"Diego!" 

The sound of his father's voice stilled Zorro's hands, which had been sliding upward. He had to bite off his usual reply of ‘Yes, Father?' as he remember just in time who he was with and who he was pretending to be. They each took a step backward. 

"I must go," he stated as he gazed into Victoria's eyes, noting she had been as stirred by their kiss as he had been. "I must go," he repeated as he touched her face one more time. 

It took all the willpower he possessed to leave. He did wonder, a few moments later as he changed his clothing in the secret cave, what would have happened if the elder de la Vega had caught Zorro and Victoria together in the courtyard? The old don would have hardly been surprised as everyone knew the tavern owner was in love with the masked hero. 

And Diego thought it highly unlikely that his father would have raised the alarm because of Zorro's presence. Don Alejandro de la Vega was one of the man in black's staunchest supporters. 

No, he had run away because he was afraid, he finally acknowledged. Afraid of the passion that had nearly consumed him as he had kissed Victoria. Afraid now he had had a taste of her, he would never be satisfied with the fleeting moments they could be together. 

With a groan he knew she would never look elsewhere for a husband now. Especially not someone like plain boring Diego de la Vega. Not after the intensity of their encounter in the courtyard. 

Diego was sitting in the library reading a book he had hastily grabbed from a shelf when Victoria wandered into the room, a very enigmatic smile on her face. She was practically radiant, he thought as he watched her walk as if she was floating on clouds. 

"You look happy," he said, hoping she didn't notice the huskiness of his voice. 

"I am," she replied. She twirled around one time then seated herself in a chair across from Diego. "It's been a perfect day," declared Victoria as she snapped open her fan. "I wish that I could live it over and over again for the rest of my life." 

Diego nearly fell out of his chair at her words. He glanced over at her sharply and realized she had no idea what she had said. Had no way of knowing he _had_ lived a day over and over again. A day he hoped to never repeat but was forced to endure seven times. 

Then he noticed her eyeing him speculatively and had a hard time suppressing a grin. Maybe she would consider Zorro's advice after all. He could only pray that she would. 

And, as he thought of their kiss in the courtyard, he had to agree that it indeed had been a day that he wouldn't mind reoccurring again and again.

Z Z Z

**FIN**


End file.
